


The Elusive Vermilion Rose

by Abarero



Series: The Daring Adventures of the Elusive Vermilion Rose [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/F, Far off places! Daring Sword Fights! A Prince in Disguise!, Identity Porn, M/M, Revolutionaries In Love, Romance, Royalty, Scarlet Pimpernel!AU, Secret Identity, Vigilantism, swashbuckling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-07-23 11:39:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 154,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16158239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abarero/pseuds/Abarero
Summary: As the revolution builds in Larussia, a masked vigilante appears to whisk those destined for execution to safety. Not about to have his plans ruined, the king gives his two sons an offer they can’t refuse: discover this masked man’s identity if you wish to be heir to the throne.The youngest prince knows this is his only chance at the throne, while the older prince, Victor, finds himself caught in the middle; as his curiosity about the elusive Eros dances ever closer to affection.Meanwhile Yuuri Katsuki, a tailor from the neighboring country of Yamato, has been traveling back and forth more than usual... clearly because of the nobility clamoring to have the emperor’s own tailor make their clothes. And Yuuri and his three friends definitely don’t have anything to do with the so-called masked vigilantes in the Society of the Vermilion Rose. Nope, not at all.





	1. Every Rose has its Thorns

**Author's Note:**

> The story is my love song to adventure novels, specifically The Scarlet Pimpernel series and Baroness Emma Orczy, for making me fall in love with masked heroes, high romance, daring good deeds of justice and late 18th century fashion. 
> 
> Extended chapter notes, outfit and location references and all kinds of other goodies will be posted up at elusive-vermilion-rose.tumblr.com and I'll be updating Fridays and Mondays (usually right around it turning midnight) until all 14 chapters are finished!
> 
> I also have the most AMAZING and wonderful artwork from smolkristen who turned my words into gorgeous lush artwork with an insane amount of details that I can't even begin to describe, so please check them out!

“Don’t move if you value your life.”

 

Victor swore he’d blinked but once after the first gunshot rang out, and then he found himself held fast with a long rapier drawn across him, its blade now hovering but a breath away from his skin.

 

“What is the meaning of this?!” the king demanded, rising from his seat at the edge of the scaffolding.

 

“Ah ah,” the man holding the younger prince warned. “All in due time, your majesty. I’d hate for you to rush things and cause my or my friend’s hands to slip. Princes make awfully bad pincushions after all.”

 

Victor tensed at that, the blade seemingly closer than before, its cold metal pricking at his throat.

 

It seemed unlikely that the man who held him tight, his sleeves of deep red silk and what felt like velvet pressed against Victor’s back, was a baker like the prisoners who were set to be hung, for such a profession would not afford such luxury; but the idea that an aristocrat would be so moved by the plight of a few breadmakers seemed just as strange.

 

The king merely scoffed, turning his glower now on the captain of the royal guard. “Do something!” he snarled.

 

The captain shifted, ever so slightly, and another gunshot rang out; this one aimed just so that a chunk of the captain’s hair dropped to the ground.

 

“Move and it’s you and the princes who’ll pay,” the gunman shot back.

 

The captain held his hands up. “You heard them, your majesty. I cannot act without endangering the lives of your sons.”

 

Victor could see his father shifting his eyes about, and for one terrible moment he feared his father would gamble their lives simply so he could win this standoff.  

 

Thankfully, it was at that very moment that the men acted; swiftly and fluidly, each of them moving with such grace and precision that it almost appeared they were dancing.

 

A crossbowman on horseback fired three shots in quick succession, each one breaking free the nooses around the prisoner’s necks. The gunman rushed up at that, cut free their bound hands and ushered the three captives off the scaffolding and onto horses that now parted the crowd. A blur of green and gold rushed past and Victor turned to see his brother being let go as his captor ran from the scaffolding and jumped onto a horse already turning to ride away.

 

But the man who held Victor hadn’t left yet, despite what appeared to be the only free horse following the others from the scene.

 

“I’m sorry,” a quiet voice, almost so soft-spoken and kind that the ruckus of the horses and the yelling of the king at the guard drowned it out.

 

Victor realized with a start that it was the man who held him, no- _had_ held him, for now he’d been freed. He turned to find a roll of parchment pressed into his hands.

 

“Please stay safe, your highness.”

 

Perhaps it seemed contradictory, especially given that he’d only just removed a blade from Victor’s throat; but there was something warm and rich in those brown eyes rimmed by a red silk mask that made Victor believe the man meant every word.

 

And without a word more, he disappeared into the crowd only to alight a moment later on the last horse before it vanished out the castle gates.

 

Victor’s fingertips moved to rest over the wax seal of the letter he’d been given.

 

A simple design perhaps, but something about it seemed to burn into his heart.

 

A single vermillion rose.

 

* * *

 

The walls of Sigrosk were far behind them now, so far that no matter how she strained to see even a hint of the capitol’s tall towers on the south gate, they too were like a memory long passed; the unfamiliar countryside slowly giving way to olive trees and winding roads that she knew would lead her back home. After what had seemed like hours, but by the sun above them could only be but half an hour or so, Sara Crispino let herself breathe a long sigh of relief.

 

“We’re almost there, Miss.”

 

It was the shorter of the two men that spoke, bringing his horse down to a trot alongside the one she rode on; she pulled on the reins and brought her horse even with his, a feat made much easier by the breeches and simple men’s clothing they’d disguised her in.

 

“And you trust this person? Implicitly?” she queried, for the whole morning might be a blur but she had enough of her wits about her to know that many people would turn her over to the guards for a handful of coins.

 

“We do,” the second of the men spoke up from where he brought up his horse in the rear. “She’s a family friend of our leader.”

 

Sara raised an eyebrow at that, for although she greatly appreciated the kindness of these four men, they were still strangers to her; masked quite literally so she had no way to determine their identities. One of them, the one that seemed to be their leader, had offered to have her taken across the channel to the country of Yamato; something she’d laughed at and then politely declined.

 

It perhaps said something for the man that he only smiled and said he expected that she’d protest the idea. In fact, it seemed he’d been prepared for that inevitability all along, given the arrangements he’d made. He’d given her a letter with a red seal, an ornate rose in the design, and told her that it must go to the woman she was to stay with. “For your revolution, Miss Crispino,” he’d said with a smile, as if he knew already that the moment she was free that fiery fight had roared back to life in her bones.

 

He would take her brother and friend in his boat and they’d smuggle them back in via a southern seaport that had no gates or guards to worry about; but in the meantime, she was to have his two best shots riding at her side until she was safely to the location they’d planned.

 

“And if our word is not enough,” the first man spoke once more, “then I expect the name of Babicheva should speak for itself.”

 

Sara almost lost her pace at that, the horse sensing her loose hold on the reins and ambling a bit off the road before she managed to regain control. But honestly, had they only told her that upfront!

 

An incredulous laugh spilled forth from her lips. “Why had you not told me that already? I would have been easily appeased at that name alone and trusted at once that there I would find safety.”

 

“Perhaps, but you see we also need to know if we can trust you, Miss,” he continued. “And had you had any qualms about our assistance, we were certain you would have found a way to part company before now. Now, it seems, we both can come to trust one another more.”

 

It was true, for the idea had crossed her mind once she knew they were safely out of the city walls, but she had weighed what she knew of the four men and decided that anyone so brazen to do all they had were surely worthy of her trust.

 

“Well then, if we are to be in each other’s trust, shall I make a suggestion before we ride into town and draw everyone’s attention?”

 

The men exchanged a look and a hint of a smile.

 

“As you wish, Miss.”

 

“Let one of us take to walking the horses in, the other two can approach the house through the woods from behind. This way no questions about strange riders entering the village become a problem for any of us.”

 

The men chuckled, bringing their horses to a halt and beginning to dismount before they spoke once more.

 

“He told us you’d be leading us before the day was through.”

 

“And it seems he was most certainly correct about that.”

 

Sara blinked, the words coming back to her once more, now with an added emphasis of belief; no mocking or condescension meant, just full and true belief.

 

_For your revolution, Miss Crispino._

 

Her fiery resolve burned stronger as if stoked alive by the faith of one in her aims; no longer was this just her fight, her ideals, but now it was supported by these strangers who had risked life and limb to bring her home.

 

This was no longer the farfetched dream of a baker.

 

This was the spark that would begin the revolution.

 

* * *

 

Now one not so familiar with Larussian history might be in wonder as to how events had lead to that morning’s altercation; but even Victor, who knew so much of his country and his family’s heritage, still found himself lacking all the answers as to what had happened mere hours before.

 

Surprisingly, in his twenty and seven years of life, such an occurrence was actually a first; a matter made all the more surprising by the fact that this was by no means the first time his father, the king, had made such a scene. There had been countless peasant lives dashed out by his father’s schemes before, but perhaps calling those actions a war or conquest made them more excusable in the eyes of some.

 

King Demyan had made a career out of putting people in what he deigned was their place, having worked his way up from the commander of the country’s army to its ruling monarch; a path that he had no problem littering with the bodies of those who didn’t step aside as he proceeded to conquer every country on the continent of Eastern Amorica. First it had been the neighboring country of Silesia, then Moravia with its grand castles and ports to the southeast, and the glory that came with that success granted him the hand of the princess of Larussia in marriage; but proud and kind Zhenya reigned like her father had before her, with kindness not force. Even in the short ten years of life Victor had with his mother, he could never understand how such a gentle woman ended up married to such a ruthless man. It was perhaps not a complete surprise that the moment she died, after years of unsuccessful attempts at a second child, King Demyan was quick to return to the ways he so desired.  

 

A political marriage to the princess of Rodiania in order to join the two countries was perhaps the kindest of his methods; a kindness that only lasted until young Yuri was but five and his mother died of an illness unable to be named, for she was barely cold in the ground by the time he’d invaded Boschekul.

 

But a boy himself, Victor watched as his father conquered - for _invaded_ implied he was in the wrong - one country after the next; taking the best of each one and claiming it for the crown. The elegant castle and harbor of Sigrosk, once Moravia’s jewel, was plucked and taken by Demyan for his own; each resource or import that once came from another land was now his to export at twice the price. Proud Apulia to the south was the last to fall, the brave peoples of the land holding him at bay three years before, depleted of resources and ignored by Yamato across the waters to the east, they too became part of the illustrious Larussian Empire.

 

And that matter, perhaps, held part of the answers Victor sought.

 

The bakers revolt, he felt, was only escalated so rapidly in part of a two-fold connection to that very event of seven years past. The Apulian bakers were the first to stand proud against the tax collectors, the head of their guild quick to rally their brethren against the king’s men; and where the brave and beloved Crispino family stood, many people were glad to follow, for it had been their family’s patriarch that had lead the Apulian civilian militia to hold the invading forces out for a solid three year span. He had died bravely for the people of Apulia, and Apulia would now gladly do the same for his children.  So what had begun as a simple skirmish between tax collector and baker had quickly become a battle of army against the common people; a matter that infuriated King Demyan so, perhaps because he so despised the Crispino name, that he ordered the twins hung with their friend and cohort in hopes to settle the matter for good.

 

But there then came the question of who the four men were who came to their aid?

 

He’d dared not open the letter from the man who’d held him captive, afraid that doing so would only anger his father more so than he surely was already; yet the king had been so busy yelling at guards and consulting with advisors that it was not until now that he had summoned his two sons to him that Victor had the chance to discuss the matter.

 

“Why did you not bring this to me immediately?” he roared, his booming voice filling the throne room as it often did.

 

“I requested audience with you and were told you were busy,” Victor replied matter-of-factly.

 

“Your guards kept accusing us of _spying_ when we even walked by the doors. Like hell we were getting in here,” his brother, Yuri, interjected.

 

As always, the bluntness of his brother seemed to fare better than Victor’s diplomacy.

 

“Well, in the future all matters of letters brought to either of you is to be presented to me immediately, is that understood?” His piercing blue eyes studied them with a scowl.

 

“Yes, father,” they echoed as always.

 

“Hmph.”

 

He quickly snatched the parchment from Victor’s hands and ripped the seal open, his eyes skimming the contents with a growing glower, before bringing his attention back to Victor.

 

“And that man gave no name or indication as to who the hell he was?”

 

Victor shook his head. “No more than the insignia on the seal. But the wax was in vermilion, and only someone with access to such a pigment…”

 

Demyan looked at the seal then, his eyes sharp and shrewd. “A vermilion rose, eh?”

 

“He was clad in red,” Victor added. “Silk and velvet at that. Certainly no simple baker.”

 

“No. He’s no baker,” Demyan growled out, his hand beginning to crumple the paper in his rage. His voice became bitter as he recited the letter aloud.

 

_“Yamato shall no longer remain deaf to the cries for help that come from your shores._

_As a common rose has its thorns, so too shall we defend the beauty of the common people._

_Consider this your last warning._ ”

 

Demyan threw it forward onto the ground and crushed it underfoot, swearing under his breath as he did so.

 

“If it’s a declaration of war Yamato wants, then I’ll show them.”

 

But Victor had heard something else in those words, hidden perhaps amidst the ones written, there was a sentiment his father could not read. The people of Yamato felt at fault for their government not aiding Apulia seven years ago, that much was known. But that government had fallen three years prior to those very merchants and workers who had cried out for Apulia’s sake. Clearly, it was one of those people who had now come into wealth, someone who knew the life of a commoner but now had the life of an aristocrat, who had taken this apology to heart.

 

This was no declaration of war from Yamato- their emperor was but a boy!- this was a man of beauty out to set matters of justice and honor right!

 

“This...Vermillion Rose,” Victor began, knowing not what else to call him, “and his comrades are not acting on any government’s command. It seems they are acting on behalf of the people.”

 

His father narrowed his eyes at that, as if trying to decide if Victor had any idea what he was saying.

 

“What sort of madman would do such a thing?”

 

Yuri scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Did you see those outfits, Father? That wasn’t military or militia, those were men of wealth.”

 

This seemed to only perplex the king further; for the idea that a man had a noble enough heart to fight for the sake of some stranger and not for personal conquest was far beyond his comprehension. But he didn’t need to understand an enemy to develop a strategy against it, and he knew where he lacked in kindness, his wives and subsequently his children fared much better than he did.

 

“Then we shall not expect our military to rise to their interference as they surely have better matters to attend to,” he began his eyes gleaming now as a plan truly developed in his mind. “I think such troublesome men can easily be dealt with by one of you two boys, now that you’re both of age.”

 

Victor blinked in shock, for never had his father expected anything more than fencing lessons from them both. But Yuri, ever asking for his father’s permission to be a part of things, was clearly ready to throw himself headlong into whatever was asked of them.

 

“Whomever brings me this man and his cohorts, this Vermilion Rose, as we say, shall be rewarded the same I was rewarded when I first brought glory to this country- with the crown. Consider this your service to the country in order to prove your devotion to the values with which I rule. Bring me this man and his men and you shall be the next king of Larussia. I swear to it on my honor as a soldier and king.”

 

Yuri bowed immediately, his eyes glittering with that competitive spark Victor knew could consume him as if it were wildfire. “Father, I will be the one to bring you these four men and take for myself the crown you so graciously offer. You need not worry anymore about them.”

 

The king smirked, clearly won over by the display, but Victor knew he could not bring himself to rival it; for childish games against his brother were one thing, but this surely would lead to the death of four men who had risked everything for the right cause.

 

“Victor,” the king turned to him now, his eyes as piercing as ice. “What do you have to say to that?”

 

Victor bowed quickly, hoping it might hide the growing unease that he was certain must have begun to surface on his face; but if there was one thing he could do well, it was charm, and charm he must to leave without facing his father’s wrath.

 

“I say, as current crown prince of Larussia, I will bring justice to our country by any means,” he began, his voice growing firmer and harsher as he knew it must. “I shall remind Yamato and any other country that Larussia does not need their interference and that any such meddlers shall be swiftly deal with and snuffed out.”

 

He could see the pleased curl of his father’s lip as he peered up through his bangs and steeled himself to mask his emotions as he looked up at his father.

 

“Good,” the man growled out. “I shall expect to hear back from both of you soon on your mission. In the meantime, we must prepare for the formality that is associated with your positions.”

 

He motioned to the guard at the door and he nodded, stepping out into the foyer post haste.

 

“The emperor of Yamato is having a gathering that you two are expected to attend. As you may know, the boy they call emperor over in that backwards country has recently become quite the news due to his elaborate attire; something that I knew I must find a way to rival, no matter the cost. As such, I’ve hired the tailors who work for the emperor to now ensure the Larussian royal family puts their strange Adelasian attire to shame. I expect both of you to work to better your appearance in public from here on out so that the _child_ from Yamato isn’t the one being talked about.”

 

Victor exchanged a hidden look with his brother, both of them clearly not strangers to their father’s egotistical whims; but it was true that the young boy emperor had earned more of the king’s wrath than usual, for no child should be considered a better ruler than himself in Demyan’s mind.

 

As always, Yuri and Victor were but pawns in his political game.

 

“Do we at least get to pick the colors?” Yuri finally asked, feeling far more daring than Victor felt at the moment.

 

The king chuckled at that, and if he didn’t know his father so well, Victor might have found him but an endeared old man who was amused by his son’s question.

 

“You may make some decisions,” he replied, smile still seeming far kinder than it was, “but as always, the final decision shall be mine.”

 

This seemed to appease Yuri, but Victor quickly cut in before this charade of a family moment continued.

 

“Of course, father. As always.”

 

The king stood at that, the doors to the left being brought open wide as two men with a small cart came into view; but it was not their bundles of rich silks and beautiful velvets that caught Victor’s attention, for his eyes had met with those of one tailor and he’d not yet been able to look away.

 

Warm brown eyes, almost amplified in their beauty by the glasses perched on his nose, met Victor’s for a moment in shock before darting away, his messy black bangs seeming to shield him from further scrutiny.

 

“Good afternoon, your highness,” the other tailor said, making a low bow.

 

Victor’s eyes still remained on the other, who had quietly dropped to a bow himself.

 

“Hmph. You tell your meddlesome country to keep out of our affairs and perhaps it would be a good day,” the king shot back.

 

The tailor just gave a light laugh. “Ah yes, I heard about this morning. We had a bit of excitement at the gates thanks to all that.”

 

The king made his way down the stairs and towards the two, finally coming to a stop and seeming to study them closely. He waved a hand. “You Adelasians all look the same, my men were just doing their jobs.”

 

“And we would just like to do ours, if you’ll permit your highness. Sadly the clothes do not sew themselves.”

 

The king walked past as if he didn’t even hear. “I’ll have a charter drawn up so you aren’t delayed in the future, the guards should know that _seamstresses_ are not going to take up arms against our country.”

 

Apparently, given the way the two tailors flinched but didn’t speak up, Victor could tell his father had already let his biased opinions slip forth around them. Women’s work, he’d called it once. Men were to fight and build and conquer! Even Queen Zhenya couldn’t teach her son embroidery without his father about burning down the castle over it.

 

Once the door slammed closed behind him, Victor was quick to make amends.

 

“I’m terribly sorry for my father’s...attitude about your profession,” he managed, “I’m certain you are both extremely skilled and hardworking.”

 

He extended his hand first to the one who had been talking and he took it with a smile.

 

“Thank you for the vote of confidence, your highness. Phichit Chulanont, tailor apprentice, at your service,” he said with a bow before turning to offer his hand to Yuri. “I’ll be attending to the young prince, at your father’s request.”

 

Yuri gave the hand a weak shake and Victor could tell he was trying not to roll his eyes.

 

“And,” a quiet voice cut in, drawing Victor’s eyes immediately to the man it belonged to, “I shall be attending to you, your highness.”

 

Victor offered a hand with a warm smile. “Just Victor is fine, honestly. Only my father cares about the formality. And you are?”

 

The man still hadn’t raised his eyes up from the bow. “Yuuri Katsuki, sir.”

 

He studied him for a moment, trying to shake an odd feeling of familiarity that had crept into his bones as their hands met; for something about the tailor just piqued Victor’s interest immediately and suddenly for reasons he could not altogether understand.

 

He was clad in a quilted blue silk coat, the less expensive kind Victor had seen his father scoff at before, with a matching waistcoat; as was traditional for Adelasian fashion, the coat had ornate clasps made of cording and a high collar on the waistcoat that only allowed the smallest little puff of white at the front of the neck from a cravat. For pants he had simple black breeches, white stockings and black shoes; by no means was he poorly dressed, but it was moderate compared to what Victor himself wore.

 

“Yuuri, please, call me Victor.”

 

At that, those rich brown eyes flickered up to meet his with a look of surprise; but slowly, as the slightest of smiles crept onto his lips, something warm sparked to life in his gaze.

 

“If you insist, _Prince_ Victor.”

 

“I insist, _Sir_ Yuuri.”

 

A jolt of something electric seemed to pass between them at that moment, their hands drifting apart as they both silently laughed at their little joke. It was utterly wonderful, Victor thought, to be interacting with another person just like anyone else.

 

“Well, Prince Victor,” Yuuri stated with that little curl of his lips that Victor knew he couldn’t be imagining. “I’ve gotten instructions to make you attire that rivals the Emperor’s in one week’s time, which is a bit of tall order, but given the amount of money your father has offered I really could not turn it down. We’ve brought a few examples, but today we’ll be mostly doing basic fittings and deciding on fabrics you’d like.”

 

Victor noticed Yuri stride over at that, his eyes focused on the cart full of fabric with them. “If I have to put up with another Yuri in my presence, then I want all my outfit in black.”

 

“I didn’t know you were in mourning,” Phichit interjected with a smirk. “But may I suggest…”

 

“Who’s in charge here?” Yuri snapped.

 

Victor, remembering that Phichit had called himself an apprentice, knew that made Yuuri the master of the craft; a fact he was glad to use against his brother in this situation.

 

“I believe, the master tailor would be Yuuri, wouldn’t it?”

 

His brother met his look with a glare. “Call him Sir or whatever so I don’t think you’re talking to me. It’s majorly annoying.”

 

“All right then,” Victor countered, “I hope that’s agreeable with you, Sir Yuuri?”

 

Now that the joke had come so far, it seemed for a moment to startle him; a shyness creeping into his features and a blush coming to his cheeks at the title being added to his name.

 

“I suppose but…” he rubbed the back of his head, clearly trying to gather his wits about him once more. “Only if I may continue to use Prince before both of your names so I don’t feel as if I’m ignoring your royal titles.”

 

“Fine,” Yuri muttered with a shrug. “Whatever. Let’s just get this crap over with so I can go on with my day.”

 

“Of course,” Phichit replied, pulling the bolt of black silk free from the cart. “Lucky for you, I have three exciting shades of black here for you to pick from!”

 

Victor bit back a laugh at that, knowing the last thing he wanted to do was set off his brother’s temper and have him take it out on these tailors; but it was nice to see someone unafraid to poke fun at the young prince.

 

“Prince Victor?”

 

Yuuri had returned to his former, quiet voice; that hint of mischief and spark of something Victor couldn’t quite name buried now under the politeness required of a merchant, and oh how Victor yearned to find that spark again! But all that came to mind were the countless lessons on poise and diplomacy and ways to act royal, not human.

 

Finally, after a moment of surely standing there looking quite idiotic, he managed to find an acceptable reply.

 

“Please tell me you have something in shades _other_ than black in mind for me. I look dreadfully pale in it.”

 

Much to his delight, there was that flicker of something indescribable in Yuuri’s rich russet eyes at the statement; a spark that seemed to burst forth and finally reached his lips, curling them up in a shy smile as he fought back a laugh.

 

“Well, we can’t have you looking like a ghost,” he finally managed, a hint of that laugh still lingering in his tone. “So I suppose we’ll have to use some colors.”

 

Victor smiled back, warm and bright and for once, not faked for the sake of his image.

 

“Colors, what a wonderful idea!”

 

And that laugh finally snuck free of Yuuri’s lips, the sound just as warm and soft as the man who had it.

 

* * *

 

It was strange to feel as if you knew someone without ever having met them before, for having heard stories and anecdotes made it seem almost as if the person were some mythical being who didn’t really exist in flesh and blood; but sure enough here she was, Mila Babicheva, the daughter of Andris Babicheva, Santino Crispino’s right hand man during the war of seven years past.

 

Sara had heard so many stories from ‘Baba’ about his daughter he’d sent to Yamato for safety during the war; he’d raised her almost single handedly after the death of his wife and from the way he talked she was the prettiest girl to have ever walked the earth. It was definitely an exaggeration, but upon meeting the crimson haired woman, Sara had to agree that she was definitely worth some exaggeration when it came to describing her beauty.

 

She was a woman of work, that much was instantly apparent; whether it was in her apron worn with years of use or the toned muscles of her arms, almost fully visible due to how high she’d pushed up her sleeves out of the way, her front laced bodice cut low while the white of her shirt was sticking to her skin with sweat. Sara had heard that after her father’s death she’d taken up the family’s business as a brewer, but she’d clearly put her all into running it without the help of anyone else; for there was a shrewdness in the curl of her lips, her eyes of sapphire blue twinkling with a wiseness that only a seasoned tradeswoman would have.

 

And whether the mysterious man knew much more than the connection of their fathers, Sara found herself very grateful for him having lead her to someone she saw as an equal almost immediately.

 

If there were to be daughters of the revolution, there would be no better place to start than with the daughters of Andris and Santino.

 

“Well, now the boys are off and we can get down to real work,” Mila said sliding down onto the bench next to Sara with a smirk.

 

“Real work?”

 

She brandished the letter, still sealed closed with that rose of red.

 

“I told them if I had any questions I’d send it with the blessing of Santa Cecilia,” she said cryptically.

 

“And I still have no idea what you mean by that,” Sara noted. “If we are to work together…”

 

Mila reached out at that, catching the hand Sara had been gesturing with and holding it until Sara brought her eyes up to meet hers.

 

“All my secrets shall soon be yours as well, I promise,” she said, giving her hand a pat. “I would trust the Crispino family with my father’s trade secrets if they asked.”

 

“Well I’m not looking into brewing,” Sara shot back.

 

“No. But taking back Apulia from Demyan will require great trust amongst those who chose to fight. I want to make sure you and I aren’t just trusting one another blindly because our fathers did. We need to be stronger than that if we’re to take up this banner.”

 

Sara nodded. It was true, she’d definitely put more trust in Mila than she had the four men at first simply because of their fathers; but if they were going to do this, if they had a chance of taking back what was theirs from the king, they would need a trust forged in fire.

 

“You’re right,” she said quietly, her hand clenching Mila’s slightly and feeling the calluses of hers mingling with her own. “If I’m going to continue this fight, I will need people I can trust most of all. So…”

 

She paused, raising her eyes to meet Mila’s and holding her gaze as she felt that fire once more raging to life inside her.

 

“Let’s work together, like our fathers before us, and we’ll forge a trust like theirs that cannot be broken.”

 

Mila smiled at that. “I’ll drink to that, my lady.”

 

It occurred to Sara suddenly that they were still hand in hand, a fact that made her feel suddenly just as warm as if she had drank a pint of ale; and so with a nervous little laugh, she darted her eyes to it and Mila let out a little ‘oh’ as she quickly released her hand. For a moment, there was fire in the air, that crackle of something magic that Sara always felt when her bread came out of the oven just right.

 

She did her best to shake it from her mind.

 

“So, this letter?”

 

“Oh, right!” Mila said, quickly breaking the seal and unrolling the parchment. Her eyes skimmed down it, and slowly that little curl crept its way back onto her pale pink lips.

 

“It seems the leader of that little band has quite the faith in you, Miss Crispino,” she stated after a moment, holding the letter out to her. “Here, he said it was for you to read as well.”

 

Sara took it from her and quickly set to pouring over its contents.

 

 

> _M -_
> 
>  
> 
> _If you are reading this, then all has gone to plan and the three are safely in our care. It also means that, much like I suspected and mentioned to you previously, that both of the twins have insisted on staying in the country and have refused my offer to relocate them to safety. Let it be known then, that we will be needing your assistance going forward, for if they are to succeed then we must be there to aid them. You know my feelings about the matter seven years ago and this is the least I can do to try and make amends. If at any time you or those that have come to reside with you decide that safety is priority, let me know and we shall bring you to Yamato without delay._
> 
>  
> 
> _But for now, we shall place our faith in the fiery resolve of the daughter to once more rally the people for a cause. This shall not be an easy matter for any of us and I entrust that between you and her you’ll find a way to spread your message far and wide. As for the two men involved, I shall be sending you further instructions as to where to best use their talents. Only as one can we fight against the king of Larussia, so we must trust one another in everything and betray none to those we cannot trust._
> 
>  
> 
> _That being said, right now we three are bound by the history of our families and our trust in one another is not resolute. We cannot rush into battle no matter how our blood may call for action. Start small, make waves. I suspect if you make a big enough wave, the king will act; and if so, then we shall act once more as thieves of his prey. I will do my best to hear all that I can, but if you have urgent need of me, pray to the saints and they shall answer._
> 
>  
> 
> _Remember, no letter without my seal is to be considered by my hand._
> 
>  
> 
> _Share this now with your new companion. Read it and understand it, but then feed it to the fire lest it fall into the wrong hands._
> 
>  
> 
> _May the gods of fortune watch over us all._

 

There was no signature, just a small drawing of a rose in red ink.

 

Sara could feel her heart racing, as if a drumbeat summoning one to battle had begun and it was only matching beat; all the doubts that had plagued her, haunted her, from the moment she’d been arrested, were no longer loud enough to be heard over the call. She would finish the fight her father had died for, she would find a way to take back Apulia for the people who called it home, and she’d risk anything she had to to make that dream a reality.

 

“Well, I’m not usually the type to follow orders from a man, but I suppose there’s always an exception,” Mila spoke up, taking the letter back from Sara and walking towards the fireplace.

 

“I think, if there’s anyone we could trust right now, it would surely be the one who orchestrated this whole thing so meticulously so far,” Sara noted with a smile. His faith in her, this man who’d never met her before today, was like wind in her sails.

 

They stood in silence, watching as the fire ate away at the parchment and curled it and devoured it piece by piece, the crackle of the flame for a moment the only sound save their hearts.

 

“He’ll protest it, but I do think calling him Eros is a fitting choice,” Mila murmured quietly, the simmering fire reflected in her eyes. “It was his love and faith that brought us all together.”

 

“At the beginning there was only Chaos, Night, Darkness, and the Abyss,” Sara recited the ancient myth, for it was something every Apulian child learned when ever they asked about the ruins scattered throughout their lands. “Earth, the Air and Heaven had no existence. Firstly, blackwinged Night laid a germless egg in the bosom of the infinite deeps of Darkness, and from this, after the revolution of long ages, sprang the graceful Eros with his glittering golden wings, swift as the whirlwinds of the tempest.“

 

“And we are the offspring of Eros. We have wings and we lend assistance to lovers,” Mila finished.

 

“We have wings,” Sara echoed, feeling as if the dying fire had been lit anew in her veins. “And now they will see how we fly.”

 

* * *

 

After endless roads and towns full of people, the sounds of the forest were a welcome reprieve; for although the calls of wolves and owls might make some wary, it only made Leo think of his home, oceans away, and the strange course of events that had led him to this beautiful Apulian forest.

 

Had it really only been a year since he’d made the journey across the seas to Yamato?

 

Sometimes it seemed only yesterday he had left the United Lands of Arawak to come and learn the trade of silk farming from the masters themselves, and that which was to be only but a year long adventure was now turning out to be something new and exciting that he’d never considered before. Perhaps it was fate that led him here, a simple beekeeper and candle maker, to become the most highly prized source of silk in all of Yamato, carrying on the methods his sensei had taught him after the man’s death and becoming the emperor’s chosen silk farmer in the process.  

 

And now, as if all that wasn’t already a constant bafflement to him, here he was masked like a bandit and aiding the three he’d come to call friends in an adventure far beyond his wildest dreams.

 

“Are you daydreaming or have you fallen asleep?” Guang Hong’s soft voice called over to him from where he sat at the base of a neighboring tree.

 

Leo opened his eyes at that and gave a smile. “Does it count as a daydream if all I’m doing is wondering if I’m dreaming?”

 

Guang Hong smiled back at that, and as was often the effect of such a sight, Leo felt the fluttering of his heart like a cluster of butterflies had taken up residence there and were sunning their wings. Much like the bees he cared for, Leo found himself far too often straying into Guang Hong’s gardens to look upon the elegant flowers and the man who raised them.

 

“I like the change,” he finally said firmly. “I’ve always hoped that someday I’d get to do something...exciting.”

 

“Growing plants and arranging them not exciting enough for you?” Leo teased.

 

Guang Hong leaned back, his eyes drifting skyward.

 

“No, I guess not. I don’t know...it’s just…” he brought his focus back to Leo. “It was fun. Racing away from the guards, feeling the rush of the wind as we rode through the countryside, the way my heart beat as if it was going to burst from my chest…”

 

He dropped his gaze.

 

“Sorry, I’m probably not making any sense.”

 

But Leo thought he understood; for as Guang Hong spoke he could feel the excitement coursing through his veins, his heart picking up pace at the mere talk of such adventures that they’d had only hours before. He found himself on his feet and closing the space between them quickly and by the time his mind had caught up with his actions, Leo was kneeling before Guang Hong and reaching out to once more brush his fingertip over the cut on his cheek; the one thing that had made Leo feel as if perhaps this whole ordeal was a bit much despite the thrill it gave him.

 

Guang Hong’s surprised eyes flickered up to meet him.

 

“Maybe I’d be a little more inclined to agree if we hadn’t come quite so close to danger.”

 

Something flashed across Guang Hong’s features at that, his movements lightning quick and his grip firm as he held Leo’s hand where it now hovered beside his face; the two of them sharing something unspoken in the moments that ticked past.

 

No longer was Leo seeing just another delicate flower before him, something that needed constant protection and care to ensure it grew to be healthy and strong, for there was no vestiges of that boy before him any more. Blossomed in its place was something sharper, a man no longer complacent with living a quiet and reserved life when such wondrous adventures could be had instead. Or perchance this had been hidden before his eyes all along and it had only been his own feelings that had muddled up the image into something it never was, because if you wish to be a protector then you must have want of someone in need of protection.

 

But Guang Hong wasn’t in need of protection at all.

 

“Leo.”

 

He shook the reverie into which he’d diverged from his mind, trying to bring the matter into focus as it truly was as opposed to how he had perceived it. Hearing his name after hours upon hours of avoiding such a risk had shaken him back to himself.

 

Leo began to withdraw his hand, finding himself surprised once more when Guang Hong snagged it back and brought it to rest against his cheek with a smile.

 

“You may not believe me, but the danger is _why_ it’s fun.”

 

“I believe you,” Leo replied quietly, a smile curling at his own lips despite every attempt to hold it back, lest Guang Hong notice the fondness that lingered in it. “But that doesn’t keep me from worrying.”

 

Guang Hong huffed out a laugh, and maybe he was searching for something that wasn’t there, but Leo thought there might be some fondness in that too.

 

“Then I shall let you worry if you let me continue to rush headlong right into the dangers that make you worry so.”

 

And knowing it now to be truer than ever, Leo replied, “As if I could ever stop you.”

 

How long they idled so close, it was too hard to tell; time always seemed strange in moments like these. But at the sound of approaching horses, they finally parted and quickly got to their feet, poised and ready for attack if one should come.

 

All the forest stood still and through the trees came a bird’s call echoing like laughter.

 

Guang Hong and Leo lowered their weapons and turned to one another with growing smiles.

 

“The signal!”

 

“It’s them!”

 

The steady cadence of hoofbeats resounded, drawing ever nearer and nearer until the two riders were in sight; one bedecked in a deep red top with billowing silk sleeves, and a velvet waistcoat and breeches, the vibrant color standing out like a beacon amidst the trees. He was followed close by another, dressed in light greens; his silk waistcoat embroidered with intricate detail and his nacré velvet coat seeming to shimmer with pink as he moved. Much like the ornate outfits Leo and Guang Hong wore- Leo’s a black waistcoat embellished with elaborate gold cording for closure and Guang Hong’s a flowing pink crêpe-de-chine silk shirt with a brocade black waistcoat over it- they were flashy and expensive looking for a reason. What better way to distract from commoners such as the bakers than to dress as if one had just left the Larussian royal court?

 

“Sorry for the wait,” the rider in red said as he brought his horse to a halt and began to dismount, a long silver rapier hanging at his side. “We had a bit of a delay.”

 

“More like we made a distraction just to be safe,” the second rider added as he stepped down from his mount. “ _Someone_ thought it might be best if those masked riders were seen somewhere far from the place we sent the lady with you.”

 

Even though they were surely the only ones in the forest for miles, there was still such awareness and caution in regards to their words and it made Leo remember what they’d discussed back at Mila’s before he and Guang Hong left.

 

“I get what you’re saying, but we need a faster way to say it,” he began, handing over his flask so the two could get a fresh drink from it. “And it just so happens the two we were just with came up with something for us to use. Names that aren’t our own.”

 

“Good, because as much as we’ve been careful it’s hard not to slip up,” the first rider remarked. “And right now, the palace has only given one of us a name to search out.”

 

“Oh? What’s that?” Guang Hong asked.

 

“The Vermillion Rose,” he replied. “The eldest prince was sharp enough to notice the unique pigment we used.”

 

“Yuuri may have been rather proud of him for that,” the second rider said quietly.

 

“Phichit hush!”

 

“Sorry, but I’ve spent all day trying not to tease you about him and it’s finally hit the point if I don’t I’m going to die from holding it all in,” Phichit elaborated.

 

Leo exchanged a look with Guang Hong, both of them holding back laughter at their leader’s expense. It was no secret amongst the group that Yuuri had a particular interest in the prince; for as the story from his sister went, it was the prince and former queen’s visit to Yamato years before that had inspired Yuuri to take up the family trade of tailoring. He’d always wished he could someday be skilled enough to work for the royal family and now, much to his surprise, that time had come.

 

As it was, the red of his mask seemed to only amplify the red color seeping into his cheeks.

 

“It wasn’t my idea! I told you!”

 

Phichit just grinned, clearly quite content with recounting the details.“Right now they’re already on first-name terms, with the prince referring to him as _Sir_ Yuuri. And he’s insisted that he be called Victor.”

 

“Not my idea!” Yuuri reiterated. Guang Hong gave a sympathetic pat to his shoulders and he let out a resigned sigh. “Look- we can laugh about it all we want at another time. We shouldn’t even be using these names right now. What was it that she came up with, Leo?”

 

As the four huddled close, their voices kept low, Leo explained what Mila and Sara had decided on for a way of keeping them all distinct without betraying any of their identities.

 

“Well, she noted that our mission is one born of love. Love of country, love of others, love of justice. So she said the old stories from ancient Apulia on love should be our guide,” Leo explained. “Each of us takes on a name that represents a kind of love.”

 

“We’re Agape and Ludus,” Guang Hong continued. “The two ladies are Storge and Pragma. And you two are Philia and Eros.”

 

Yuuri blinked, looking from one to the next. “Wait, so- Agape?” He pointed to Guang Hong and was answered with a nod. “Ludus?” Then to Leo. “Then the house belongs to Pragma and Storge is staying there?” Leo nodded.

 

But then Yuuri came to a pause and frowned. “Then if Phichit is Philia... _I’m_ supposed to be Eros?”

 

“Isn’t Eros like seductive love?” Phichit asked, clearly trying to hold back a snicker.

 

“It’s a lot of other things,” Leo clarified. “But yeah...that’s the main part.”

 

“Well I guess no one will ever guess it’s me then,” Yuuri muttered.

 

“It’s just another mask,” Leo noted. “Nothing more to it than that.”

 

At that, a flicker of confidence crossed through Yuuri’s eyes, the red silk around them seeming to sharpen his gaze.

 

“Right. Then let’s go forward with these as our names. As one, we can be the Society of the Vermillion Rose and we can use that as our signature when we leave any messages to others or to each other. Pragma will get instructions on where to send the two men and with Storge taking the lead, it’s only a matter of time before our assistance will be needed again.”

 

He put his hand in the center of them, the red signet ring with the rose seal engraved in its stone glistened in the dappled forest lighting and stood out starkly against his black leather gloves.

 

“If you want out, this is your last chance. There’s no turning back after this.”

 

Phichit, of course, was first to follow after Yuuri.

 

“No way I’m letting you do this alone, Eros.”

 

Leo watched as Guang Hong quickly placed his hand atop the two others.

 

“And I’m not letting you two have all the fun,” he stated with that fiery look in his eyes.

 

Had you asked Leo previously if he’d ever consider joining up with a band of men brave enough to fight for what’s right, he’d hesitate and wonder if he could ever measure up to such people; but at this moment, with these three friends, he knew there was no other answer but one.

 

“The Society of the Vermilion Rose shall stand as one!”


	2. A Stitch in Time Saves Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and leaving such nice comments! It really truly makes my day! There's some addition notes at the bottom of the chapter, and more extensive notes available here: https://elusive-vermilion-rose.tumblr.com/

It was early morning, the sun barely over the horizon and the birds beginning their morning songs as Yuuri sat working away in the window; his legs crossed and rich blue velvet spread over the low table he sat upon, his fingers nimbly stitching away. The seaside town of Hasetsu was heavy with fog rolling in from the ocean, the splash of the waves upon the beach heard but shrouded from view by the mist, painting the whole town as if it were otherworldly and spectral; a mystery that had to be seen to be believed.

 

And such mystery was heavily on Yuuri’s mind that morning, the steady pacing of his stitches and the slide of the thread through the cloth a calming balm upon his nerves that had preyed upon him in the dark of night. The repetition, the feel of the fabric in his hands and his skillful needle clutched between his fingers, was a welcome comfort that wrapped him in feelings of warmth and home like nothing else could; and so soothed he could now bring out the worries one by one and deal with each in its due course much like he would a snag in his thread, picked apart carefully and brought back to reason.

 

There was much to dwell upon this morning, the day just gone seeming now but a fantastical adventure that was conjured up by dreams and not of any reality save the memory of it all.

 

Had he really done all that? It seemed almost a blur now, the whirlwind which had come over him and driven him into action lest another Crispino fall to the king’s injustice. Yuuri paused in his stitch, gently settling the fabric in his lap as he reached into the folds of his shirt and pulled forth the cord which hung around his neck, a large gold ring swinging from the end.

 

The light through the mist seemed to dance upon that red stone and Yuuri found a smile upon his lips before he knew from whence it came.  

 

“Vermilion Rose, huh?”

 

It was a color he’d chosen with good reason, knowing at least in his part of the world the importance and significance of such a color upon a seal was associated with the emperor himself; for he couldn’t risk Demyan dismissing this as an act by peasants who he’d never consider a threat.

 

As for the rose, Yuuri knew he had Minako to blame for that; the swordswoman who’d trained him for years quick to remind him of the flower whenever he protested that perhaps he wasn’t the fighting type.

 

_Even a rose has its thorns. Someday, you may have need of yours._

 

He had come to need those thorns, had come to want them and perfect them, sharpening them with his ire over matters which one man could not sway. Seven years ago, he’d watched as his country did nothing when Apulia was invaded by Demyan, the shogunate refusing to meddle in foreign affairs, and seen the tears on little Mila’s face when they received word that her father had been executed for treason. Four years later, the people of Yamato had fought their own battles, the lower class farmers and merchants toppling the ruling daimyo and restoring the emperor’s family to power.

 

Now, with the emperor but a boy, Yuuri knew this time it was up to him to change the course of history before it once more claimed another innocent life.

 

“Yuuri, you’ve got a visitor!”

 

It was his sister’s voice that snapped him from his reverie, his hands quick to hide the ring back underneath his shirt before she entered his workroom.

 

“What time is it? I thought Leo and Guang Hong were coming by later.”

 

Mari entered the room at that, leveling her brother with a resigned look before coming over and fussing on his appearance.

 

“Did you sleep in your clothes again? I know you got home late, but really, Yuuri, you need to look at least a little more presentable.”

 

A frown tugged his lips down. “Who do I need to look presentable for?”

 

Mari huffed and handed over a clean shirt and waistcoat. “His majesty the emperor has come to speak with you. So quickly, change into something fresh.”

 

Yuuri did as told, his sleepy thoughts still sluggish but his body quick to react; by the time he’d gotten his waistcoat buttoned, Mari had darted back out of the room.

 

What came next should not have surprised Yuuri, for he was quite aware that the emperor’s whims changed as often as the weather, especially when it came to the latest in fashion; but, despite knowing his majesty had just returned from Brittony, the rather notable powdered wig and the fanciful attire were still quite the sight to behold. The wig, towering a good two heads higher, had upon its top a small hat perched there like a bird upon a magnificent nest, ringlets bouncing next to the Emperor’s cheeks as he did his best to enter the room without a step amiss in the doorway that might topple the spectacle he wore.

 

But the wig was by no means the only stylish piece worn, the suit itself tailored with extremely truncated tails and a high falling collar in a green Yuuri knew would take at least two dyes in blue and yellow to achieve perfectly. As per the fashionable rule, the waistcoat was in a completely contrary shade of salmon orange, trimmed with sequins and gold metallic passementrie and the jacket was set off with a corsage of fresh flowers in the buttonhole that Yuuri suspected had been acquired from Guang Hong’s gardens. If it wasn’t quite overdone already, the neck was set off with a large linen bow and lace ruffles, a decorative sword dangled at the hip, and the buckles on the shoes seemed overly large and shiny. It took all his willpower not to let even the slightest hint of a laugh or snicker out in the face of the ruler of his country.

 

“Yuuri!” the emperor exclaimed excitedly while striking a pose. “How do you like it? It’s very macaroni, isn’t it?”

 

Yuuri knew something of the fashion, as it was an exaggerated variant of the rich Larussian attire, but it's excessiveness seemed almost overbearing.

 

“You uh… definitely look like a fashionable Britton, your majesty.”

 

The boy gave him a warm smile before nudging him up from his bow, “Don’t you worry, I’m not going to replace my wardrobe with it. But you know, foreign relations are very important right now and what better way to see the queen than with the highest fashion of her country!”

 

Yuuri offered what he hoped was an acceptable smile. “I take it your trip went well, Emperor Minami?”

 

He nodded, the whole giant wig bouncing as he did. “Very well. We’ve established trade routes and uh…” he paused, clearly trying to remember the more important terminology that his advisors had provided him, “made diplomatic resolutions in regards to our relationship with them that smoothed over the fact we acknowledged the independence of Arawak when I visited there last month.”

 

“I’m glad. I know the tribal council of Arawak you spoke with was concerned that Yamato’s action might forfeit its relations with Brittony.”

 

“Yes yes, but...I’m not here about politics,” Minami quickly cut in. “I’d prefer to spend my time with you talking of other things. Namely, have you heard about what happened in Larussia yesterday?”

 

Yuuri licked his lips and tried to remain calm. “I did happen to hear about it, as I was in Sigrosk to help attire the royal princes for their upcoming attendance to your ball.”

 

At that Minami stepped closer, shooting a glance at the door to ensure it had closed behind him; his voice dropped to a whisper.

 

“And you wouldn’t happen to know anything about the men who pulled it off? Anyone who happened to be in Sigrosk already that would definitely show up wearing clothing befitting a royal?”

 

Yuuri swallowed hard. He’d not been too worried about the matter, especially since most Larussians seemed just as prejudiced as their king. To them, all Adelasians looked the same, after all. But, of course, the emperor who already seemed to find heroics in Yuuri’s ability to untangle a thread would wonder if the mysterious man and he were one in the same.

 

For one fleeting moment, he considered it, toyed with the idea that if he divulged his secrets to the young emperor perhaps he could find himself more assistance from the ranks of his military guard, could be granted safety and immunity even in the eyes of the ruler of Yamato; but then he thought of how Emperor Minami seemed to find every due reason to expound on the wonders of Yuuri’s talent to anyone who would listen and he brought himself up short.

 

The boy-emperor looked on with eyes that seemed to sparkle with hope and Yuuri knew he could neither take that from him nor encourage it much further.

 

“Was the man involved wearing something of note?” Yuuri asked coyly. “What an odd thing for a masked man to do, being as he surely wouldn’t want to draw any attention to himself for the safety of his own life. It could be rather dangerous if he was recognized.”

 

Minami, thank the gods, took the hint and left it as it was.

 

“Well,” he rejoined, taking Yuuri by the hand, “if you do cross paths with him, please tell him that I think he’s the hero that Yamato deserves. Won’t you do that for me?”

 

Yuuri blinked, knowing surprise surely flickered fast across his features before he could snuff it out and replace it with indifference.

 

“I don’t know how lucky I’ll be in crossing paths with such a man,” Yuuri replied.

 

But Minami held firm. “I’ve spoken with my advisors and they don’t think it wise for our country to make any military movement until we’ve established better relationships with the rest of the world. We’ve spent too long isolated and we can’t jump right into a war even if for a good cause.”

 

There seemed to be something unspoken that flickered between them then, a wish and a prayer that he knew he couldn’t utter aloud but wished to bestow upon his friend all the same.

 

“So I’m glad to hear that someone brave and noble has taken up that fight that we cannot. I only hope that the gods keep him and his friends safe.”

 

Yuuri bowed his head at that in gratitude. “I promise, if our paths do cross, I will relay these words to him, your majesty.”

 

Before he knew it, the young emperor had wrapped him in a hug before nervously pulling away.

 

“Thank you, Yuuri. I’m sorry for troubling you, but I knew you’d understand. Now, it looks like I’d best let you get back to your work. I assume this all is for the prince as I know we went with orange for my outfit.”

 

Yuuri nodded, a smile tugging at his lips shly. “Yes, this is for crown Prince Victor. Yours only needs a few final touches and it’ll be ready.”

 

“That’s wonderful. Oh, I almost forgot…” Minami reached a hand into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a letter. “I had an invitation that I wanted to give to you. One for you and your three friends.”

 

He blinked down at the envelope before slowly taking it into his hands. “To your ball? But I’m just a tailor, your majesty. I don’t…”

 

Minami’s hand settled firmly on his shoulder. “Along with this invitation there is also a designation. A title earned by performing outstanding service to our nation. So henceforth, you shall be Kōshaku Yuuri Katsuki. Or Duke, or Marquis, whichever term you prefer. You know my advisors are very much about integrating foreign ideals into our country.”

 

“I’m not… your majesty, I’m not worthy of that.”

 

Minami gave his shoulder a pat. “That is for me to decide, Yuuri. You need only to continue to live up to it. Think you can do that?”

 

Yuuri thought of the fire in Sara’s eyes, the stubborn refusal by Michele and Emil to come to Yamato, his talk with Mila beforehand in which they both admitted they knew this was only the beginning.

 

With as much confidence as he could muster, he brought his eyes up to meet the emperor’s.

 

“I’ll do my best to make you proud, your majesty.”

 

* * *

 

Phichit was no stranger to secrets. He knew well the importance of identity and knowing who held the key to unlock it, how to ensure that key never fell into the wrong hands lest it bring ruin upon himself and those he loved; but he also knew the value of honor and nobility, perhaps more than most would think the simple tailor apprentice might.

 

To many he was but a boy who’d come from Ayutthaya to learn the trade of the tailor from an expert in the field, which perhaps was true in part; but his honor, his nobility, was something he was born with in the court of King Rama, one of the many children to the king. At his mother’s behest, as a boy of just twelve years, she’d sent him off into the world in hopes that putting him out of the reach of the battles and wars for the crown would spare his life; and so smuggled aboard an Apulian trader’s ship he made his way to Yamato and into the arms of the Katsuki family who welcomed him as if he was one of their own.

 

Never once had he complained, never once had he thought himself above the treatment or work expected of him from the merchants who he lived with; for instead of seeing his circumstances as bleak, he was always optimistic that the winds of fate would send him where he was needed most.

 

It was with that stalwart optimism that he waited now at the docks for the trader who’d brought him to Yamato, humming a merry tune to himself that made him remember days of dancing and song in the royal court.

 

“Phichit! Oi!”

 

He grinned as he saw the familiar ship drifting up to the dock, waving excitedly to the man that hailed him from over the bow of the ship. “Ciao Ciao!”

 

The man laughed warmly at the nickname, then he disappeared momentarily in the hustle and bustle aboard the ship as it prepared to anchor. Moments later he came down the plank carrying a large bundle over his shoulder and a sealed envelope in his hand.

 

“I know you’ve got plans to be making, so I won’t keep you long. This was the letter I found where you instructed me to look and…” he paused, slowly unwrapping the top of the bundle. “I hope these are the swords you asked for.”

 

Phichit saw the glint of the twin blades, their handles forming one whole as they nestled together, and he felt that rare pang of homesickness in his chest at the familiar weaponry.

 

“They’re perfect!” he replied, taking the bundle from the man and cradling its weight in one arm while he received the letter in his open hand. “Thank you. We didn’t know who else we could trust.”

 

Celestino smiled. “As always, your secrets shall be safe with me. You boys be careful though, Larussia’s military isn’t the type to play nice.”

 

He grinned at that. “Don’t worry. We’re not planning on playing nice either.”

 

“Let me know if you need anything else,” Celestino said quietly. “I can make a few detours without drawing much in the way of questions from the crew.”

 

“Okay. We’ll be in touch. See ya, Celestino!”

 

“Don’t have too much fun, Phichit.”

 

He turned now, much like he had that first time, from the docks at the port towards the sleepy seaside village of Hasetsu; for although it was a central port for trade coming from Larussia to Yamato, little more happened or went on in the village save trade and fishing. The few that had needed to spend a night or two in the town found themselves, much like Phichit had, heading to the inn of the Katsuki family- Yu-Topia.

 

At the sight of the sign swaying in the light breeze, Phichit could remember how he’d first come to know the family that ran the small inn; the mother’s family had been that of seamstresses and the father’s a family of brewers, trades that their two children carried on today while they handled the upkeep of the inn.

 

It was the older sister that Phichit saw first, the long pipe of her kiseru trailing smoke into the air and drawing his eyes to the woman that held it. When Celestino had come to the family and told them of what Madame Chulanont had asked him to do, it had been Mari to first break the tense silence by noting that the metal tipped rod she smoked could easily double as a weapon if someone tried to bring harm to Phichit; something that earned her a laugh and boundless respect when it happened. After eight years, now she was as much his sister as the numerous princesses of the Ayutthayan royal family.

 

“You’re late,” she quipped, an elegant ring of smoke floating up from her lips. “Leo and Guang Hong are already here and Yuuri’s getting antsy.”

 

Phichit gave as best a shrug he could with his weighted bundle. “Take it up with Celestino. It was his ship that was late.”

 

Mari pointed with her kiseru towards the side of the inn where the small room Yuuri used as a workshop was adjoined to the building. “The emperor was here early this morning and Yuuri’s embroidered about half a cape in his stress. Go relieve him of his worry before he injures himself, won’t you?”

 

He quirked an eyebrow at the mention of the emperor, but outside of that the rest sounded fairly normal for Yuuri. “Yes, nee-san,” Phichit shot back in a sing-song voice, dodging the swing of her kiseru as he snuck past her stab in his direction.

 

The workshop was in its usual state of organized disarray, floor covered in fabrics and multiple pieces in various states of completion scattered across the low tables to the point it appeared to be a very odd choice of tablecloth; Yuuri of course, was in the eye of the storm, the rich blue velvet draped around him as his fingers stitched faster than Phichit’s eyes could see.

 

“I thought the embroidery on that was already done,” he remarked on entry, giving a nod to the two others who sat carefully in chairs buried in more fabric.

 

“He decided it needed more,” Leo spoke up on seeing that Yuuri was too focused to even register that someone had entered.

 

“He’s adding bees,” Guang Hong noted, seeming helplessly swallowed up by the ominous black ensemble in progress that laid over the chair he’d taken.

 

“Bees?” Phichit queried. “Why bees?”

 

“A symbol of the Nikiforov family line,” Yuuri finally spoke, his voice as firm as his stitch. “Representing hard work, zeal, vigilance and as the producer of honey, sweetness and benevolence.”

 

Phichit let out a long whistle. “You’re flirting through embroidery now, good job Yuuri.”

 

The comment got its desired effect, Yuuri’s needle coming to a stop mid-stitch and his eyes finally darting up from his work to Phichit as his cheeks burned red.

 

“What? I’m not… I just thought that…”

 

Phichit held out the letter to him. “I think Victor will love it. Now can I pull you away from it for a little so we can discuss other matters of importance?”

 

At the sight of the letter his eyes grew sharper, the warmth and kindness lit with a spark, those gentle brown eyes now fiery with that innate call of adventure and justice that seemed to flow in the man’s blood whether he realized it or not. He set his work aside, rising from the table to stand and walk to lock the door behind Phichit, before returning to sweep aside the blue cloth to reveal a collection of maps underneath it.

 

Without a word, the atmosphere of the room had changed; the air thick with tension crackling like a beacon fire calling them to battle.

 

Yuuri’s fingers were deft and quick, opening the envelope and reading over the message as fast as possible; a firm set to his lips telling all that much like they’d expected, their daring deeds of the day before were not to be the last.

 

“It’s from Storge, bless her, she’s already on the move.”

 

“She’s acting already?” Phichit asked with surprise.

 

“She made contact with all the others involved in the revolt and has identified who is still imprisoned. Pragma and her, and I agree with them, suspect Demyan will move against them next in spite. There are nine bakers in five different towns that we’ll need to rescue before he can get to them.”

 

The group moved closer at that, watching as Yuuri’s finger pointed to the five towns on the map before him. “Castra Martis, Barduli, Chalcedon, Pisae and Naissus.”

 

“All near the border with the capital except one then?”

 

Yuuri nodded. “Seems the further from Sigrosk, the more likely the local authorities sided with the bakers and didn’t make arrests. But that’ll work in our advantage then, because we need to make it seem like we’re in two places at once to throw anyone off the track of our identities.”

 

Phichit grinned, the excitement already building in his veins.

 

“So what’s the plan, Eros?”

 

Yuuri looked around then at the three men, the confidence and bravery so palpable from him it was infectious.

 

“Tomorrow, we’re going to free every one of those nine bakers. And we’re going to do so in such a manner that will erase all possibility of two tailors, a florist and a candlemaker being involved.”

 

And although it seemed impossible, seemed utterly mad to even consider it, Phichit knew that somehow they’d make it happen. For after all, he was well aware that a well placed mask could distract rather well.

 

* * *

 

Guang Hong had always been in want of an adventure.

 

It wasn’t a case in which his life had been insufferably dull or without excitement, for he’d had his fair share of that; it was more that the tales of daring heroics and thrilling chases had always caught his interest in a way nothing much ever could. He’d offered to be part of the envoy from Zhongguo to the young emperor of Yamato in hopes that leaving the shores of his country might provide him with even the slightest taste of adventure that he so desired.

 

Yamato! The land of samurai and honor! Truly, he’d thought, that would be where destiny awaited him with such excitement as he’d never known before.

 

It had, he did have to admit, in the last few years provided some such revelry to liven up the small gardens he kept in a town outside the capital of Minabasho. There had been insurgents that had risen up against the new ruler and it was Guang Hong’s quick dispatching of a group of them that had intruded into his fields (and damaged precious flowers with their steps) that drew the attention of the emperor back to the quiet boy who’d come with the rest of the delegates from his country.

 

With but a makeshift rope dart made of gardening tools, he’d laid four of them out cold and brought the military to deal with the rest; and after such a scene he’d been invited to care for the gardens surrounding the emperor’s palace. What a wise move by them, for they earned themselves a gardener and a guard in but one boy.

 

But after a year and so past, much of the backlash had settled and with the gardens quite well arranged and needing only tending from time to time, he found himself returning to his home in Okutama where the only joy came with the arrival of the beekeeper and silkworm farmer who’d moved into the house next door.

 

Leo was indeed quite a ray of sunshine after the gloom and disappointment of the return to normalcy, his constant cheerfulness and warmth something that even Guang Hong’s frustration couldn’t keep out. But there was still his weapon, the liúxīng, his one request from the emperor, that rested collecting dust on his shelf.

 

When the kind tailors who so often found themselves travelling past Okutama on their way to attend to the emperor extended their friendship, never had Guang Hong expected that such a thing would be the door to opportunity for his dreams of daring adventure!

 

But now, he found himself not just planning as they had, but acting, his blood set ablaze like a firework as they raced from danger after danger. It had perhaps surprised every one of them but Leo when Guang Hong offered to be the first to act now, donning the bold red attire and mask of Eros to create a scene at the same time they were to be tailoring the princes at the castle.

 

“I think you’re pulling off the black wig better than I am, Agape,” Leo said quietly.

 

He looked to his companion, attired as if to be Phichit’s double, and offered a smile. “It doesn’t matter, if we move fast enough they can’t get a good look at us. I’m more concerned about your sword skills than your wig.”

 

Leo frowned down at the two blades Phichit had given to him and he gave a shrug. “Guess we’ll have to hope you put enough fear in them that I won’t have to use them.”

 

Guang Hong weighed the weapon he carried in his hands, his liúxīng, a meteor hammer that had sadly not seen much of action before now, and was glad that he’d been allowed to use it instead of Yuuri’s sword; for Yuuri had agreed that if Guang Hong struck true, the resulting headache would definitely muddle the thoughts enough that they might not remember what they’d been hit with.

 

The town of Castra Martis was bustling with people, as such a town close to the capital might be, filled with workers and traders coming and going, the perfect setting for this forward of an attack. They were to ride straight in to the town’s prison, quickly immobilize the guards and to ride off in plain sight of all there in the city with the two bakers held as prisoner.

 

“Ludus,” he murmured quietly, hestitaing a moment before he edged his horse closer to the one his companion rode on. “Are you ready?”

 

He accompanied his words with a gentle touch of his hand, for he could see the panic rising in those brown eyes so usually filled with life, and wished for a moment that he didn’t have the fabric of the black gloves between them. This may very well be what he’d dreamed of, longed for, but Leo had no such aspirations, content to spend his days with bees and silkworms for company. It was asking much of him, but when Guang Hong had volunteered, Leo had insisted that he went with him.

 

Leo took a steadying breath, and as if the gloves too seemed to trouble him, he reached out to press a warm hand against Guang Hong’s arm; the warmth so radiant that it easily reached through the silk sleeves and seemed to touch his very soul with a spark.

 

“I trust you,” he said with a tone that pierced straight to the heart. “As long as I’m with you, I’ll be okay.”

 

There was such a burst from his chest at that, those words so truthful and earnestly stated, that Guang Hong felt as if he might be overcome by the swell of the emotion.

 

Never had someone so trusted him, so placed their very safety in the palm of his hand for keeping!

 

The daring, the rush of excitement in his veins, was already at its height; but now he had an even stronger driving force behind it- trust. So easily given. Why, he had no choice now but to live up to it tenfold!

 

It was a bit awkward and his horse probably thought him a bit daft for his action, but he drew the mounts even closer at that and did his best to wrap his free arm around Leo’s shoulders to give him a hearty hug.

 

“Then I shall do my best to live up to your trust, Ludus.” They held each other’s gaze for a second and time itself seemed to hold everything still. “Now, are you ready?”

 

Leo nodded this time firmly. “Ready.”

 

* * *

 

“And so, word is, they’ve gotten two of the other bakers out of jail.”

 

“What?!”

 

The outburst seemed to echo in the hall in which the two princes had gathered with the tailors for final fittings, the news delivered by the young prince’s attendant quite loud enough that both Yuuri and Phichit definitely overheard.

 

“I can recount the details, if you’d like, sire.”

 

“Fine. Tell me everything, Otabek. I want to know everything so I can strike back at these bastards!”

 

Phichit shot Yuuri a look at that, with his eyebrows raised and Yuuri returned it with what he hoped was just a mere look of surprise instead of a hopeful one at knowing Guang Hong and Leo had clearly succeeded.

 

“It was just perhaps half an hour ago in Castra Martis, during the midday crowds, two riders, one clad in red and the other in green and gold rode right up to the prison. The rider in red, the same rider that had held Prince Victor just the other day, dismounted quickly and somehow he rendered all the guards unconscious.”

 

“Somehow? What do you mean, somehow?” Yuri pressed.

 

“That’s just it, sire, reports from witnesses differ. Some say he simply moved so quickly he was able to knock each of them out.”

 

“In one punch?”

 

“Supposedly.”

 

“That’s ridiculous. What’s the other rumors?”

 

“Others say he threw something at them, although what it couldn’t be seen, and then they simply fell over as if it was magic.”

 

Yuri rolled his eyes. “Magic isn’t real. God will these simpletons believe just anything?!”

 

“The guards are all suffering now from severe head injuries, so their reports are very vague, but they all agree that something came at them from the man’s hand and then they don’t remember anything else until they woke up in the care of the doctor.”

 

“Fine, so whatever happened is a mystery. Then what? They just broke in?”

 

“The second rider took the keys from one of the unconscious guards and simply… let the prisoners go. The riders each took one of the bakers with them and then they just rode out of town.”

 

“What about the guards at the gate? Castra Martis has a gate on both sides of town.”

 

Otabek fell silent for a moment. “I’m sorry sire, I’m not sure.”

 

But although he’d continued to listen in, Yuuri’s attention had been drawn back to Victor; for during the conversation he’d been approached by who was surely his attendant and they’d had a whispered discussion that Yuuri couldn’t quite overhear.

 

“Apparently, they entered and fled from the same gate and those guards were found much like those at the prison,” Victor spoke up with a smug smirk, “I’ve just gotten word.”

 

He gestured to his attendant at that and Yuri glowered at his in return.

 

“Well, anything else important you didn’t find out, Otabek?”

 

“Ahem, if you would like, your highness, I could share my report with the room?” Victor’s attendant asked.

 

“Go ahead, Christophe,” Victor replied. “I think it’s a rather interesting report.”

 

“Witnesses say the lady baker kissed the masked rider as they began to depart, and another woman near the prison received the message the man threw tied to the stem of a red rose. This message simply states- _We are coming for the others as well. Good luck_. The note is only signed with a drawing of a single red rose.”

 

Yuri swore under his breath and Phichit was clearly trying very hard not to laugh at the prince’s frustration.

 

Yuuri bit his own lip, but his thoughts were preoccupied more with Victor; for unlike the fury of his brother, he seemed to listen to the story equally amused and nonchalant about the matter.

 

“So this Vermilion Rose guy is some womanizer on top of everything else then?” Yuri asked after a moment.

 

Phichit barely held in a snort, but Yuuri about swallowed a pin that he’d had in his teeth at the words. Victor, thankfully, had burst into a laugh that had distracted well enough from the actions of the tailors.

 

“Being popular with the ladies and being a womanizer are two very different matters, Yuri. Let us not villainize the man any further without reason.”

 

But Yuri was clearly still quite miffed for he turned and snapped at Phichit. “Are you done? Because I’ve got better things to do right now than play dress-up.”

 

Phichit held up his hands. “I can work with what I’ve got, your highness. We can make any last adjustments in a few days.”

 

At that, Yuri quickly turned towards his attendant and beckoned him to follow as he stormed out of the room.

 

“I apologize, as usual, for my family’s rudeness,” Victor said quietly the moment the door slammed closed.

 

“No, no, you’ve got more important matters than clothing at the moment,” Phichit offered in return. “Yuuri, are you about done?”

 

Yuuri frowned and looked back to the pieces he’d pinned in place. “I can be, but I’d need to schedule an additional fitting to make sure. Would that be acceptable with you, Prince Victor?”

 

Victor’s face had seemingly lit up at the idea, and Yuuri was in no way prepared for how warm a smile he received as the prince turned to him in reply. “Most acceptable! Would tomorrow morning be a good time for you?”

 

Yuuri nodded. “Certainly.”

 

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow, Sir Yuuri.”

 

And knowing he had far too many other things to worry about, Yuuri tried his best to ignore how the lilt of his name from the prince’s pronunciation seemed to tug his heart with it.

 

* * *

 

Within an hour of the incident in Castra Martis, the other two men had struck Barduli.

 

Jean Jacques Leroy, captain of the royal guard, had gone at his majesty’s request to speak with the guards and witnesses in person, hoping that perhaps now that the captain himself was involved they could stop this matter entirely. But the report had left him just as baffled as the one from Castra Martis had and simply made him wonder if the masked men they were dealing with were even of this world.

 

Barduli had no gates like Castra Martis, but its prison was considered one of the better built and the guard there one of the more elite in all of southern Larussia. With towers that seemed to cast warning shadows over the village, the prison was known to keep some of the more colorful thieves and troublemakers within its walls and had never, in all the years since it had been taken over by the Larussians, had any incidents.

 

Until today when at the strike of noon, two men appeared as if phantoms out of nowhere and laid siege to the prison. They had simply walked right in, two masked men! Right in the middle of town without a soul claiming to see them until they’d come out with the baker in tow and the guards at their heels. The guards, who all seemed positively rattled by the situation, all swore the men both had brown hair and moved so quick they couldn’t make out much but that and the colors of their outfits; of course matching the gunman and bowman from the episode but a day before. Yet, knowing their quarry laid inside, they’d opted for swords instead of shots, and had used said swords to disarm all the guards, take the keys from where they hung at the head guard’s waist, and had spirited the baker out of the prison before the alarm could even be raised.

 

As they fled from the scene, they upended the cart of a candlemaker, whose wares spilled across the street and made it nigh impossible to cross without tripping on a candlestick or two; for three guards nobly tried and met with the ground rather quickly after, the candlesticks seeming to roll them right off their feet. And much like Castra Martis, they gave chase but the men and their rescued bakers simply seemed to disappear into the air; all that they found were the men’s horses who had been left tied to a tree with a note requesting they be returned to the farmer from whence they’d been borrowed.

 

Captain Leroy turned there next, hoping perhaps the farmer had gotten a good look at the men who’d taken his horses; but the poor man had no idea they’d even been gone, for they’d been ridden right out of their stable without him even noticing until they came to return them.

 

By now, the soldiers of the Larussian royal guard had been all dispatched to keep watch at the towns that held the remaining bakers involved in the riot; all within a quick ride from the capital except for far off Pisae, who was to have a whole unit of men escort their prisoner to the capital for safer keeping. It was part of this very unit that the young captain now rode, keeping their horses at a steady pace in hopes they could make it before the men struck once more.

 

“Captain Leroy, we have a messenger approaching!” one of the men from near the back of the unit called up to him and he brought his horse down to a walk to allow him to catch up.

 

Within moments the man reached his side. “Captain Leroy! I bring news!”

 

“Speak man, what news?”

 

Clad in the uniform of the royal guard, his brown hair held back in a short ponytail as was regulation, he took a few deep breaths before he could compose himself.

 

“Sir, they’ve gotten the bakers out of Chalcedon.”

 

“What?”

 

“Just what I said… they got…”

 

“I heard what you said,” the captain cut him off. “But how? We sent five extra men there!”

 

The man nodded. “Yes sir, but that didn’t stop them. It was the rider in red with his companion again. Same story as Castra Martis- all the guards, the soldiers as well, were knocked out and left inert as logs in their wake. I rode out immediately with the news once I got it.”

 

The captain swore. “Then what’s this letter?”

 

“I don’t know sir, I was just told to give it to you.”

 

He frowned at that same red rose seal he’d seen before and quickly opened the roll of parchment.

 

All it read was a simple _4 Left_ with that blasted rose for a signature! He crumpled it in his frustration and threw it to the ground.

 

“The king’s going to have our heads if we don’t do something. Can you ride to Naissus? Tell them to have the soldiers wait in the buildings near the jail. Then when the alarm is raised they can catch them trying to escape. Have you got that?”

 

The messenger nodded. “Yes sir. I’ll relay that message immediately.”

 

“Good. Now ride! Fast! They could be there already.”

 

As they drew further and further from the capital, the captain found his worry increasing by the moment; for he knew even if they’d struck again, it would now take even longer to receive word of such. They rode into Pisae as the sun was about to set and had just spoken with the guards about a suitable carriage in which to transport the prisoners when the clatter of horses drew up outside the prison. Captain Leroy stood and went out, already having a sinking feeling he knew what news they bore.

 

There were four riders, one looking to be a farmboy, one wearing the simple uniform of the local guard and two in the royal guard’s uniform; it was one of these two who spoke first.

 

“Captain Leroy, we have urgent news from Naissus.”

 

“And it took four of you to bring it?” he rebutted, his irritation at its peak.

 

“No sir, I bring news from Castra Martis,” the farmboy spoke.

 

“And I have news from Chalcedon,” the local guard added.

 

“Mine comes from Barduli,” the second royal guard noted.

 

“Well, then what is it from Castra Martis? I thought that was already over with?” the captain asked turning to the young boy. He looked wide eyed and had clearly ridden quite far, for he was caked in dirt and sweat and it matted his blond hair to his forehead.

 

“One of the guards there awoke and had something they wished you to know, so they sent me post-haste to tell you,” the boy stuttered out.

 

“And?”

 

“They think the man had a ball and chain that he threw at them. Some sort of Adelasian weapon they think.”

 

Captain Leroy tried not to roll his eyes. It didn’t matter to him what the man had used, it was the effect of the weapon that was the problem! This was just taking up time that he didn’t have to spare, for the sun continued its creep below the horizon even now.

 

“Okay. You, what from Barduli?”

 

“We have interrogated the entire town and no one can remember seeing either of the men until they came out of the prison.The only person that entered the town all day was that candlemaker that was passing through to Florentia and there’d be no way he could have hidden two men on his cart already laiden with so many candles and one boy.”

 

The captain rubbed his forehead, knowing the building headache was only going to grow worse, and sighed. “Okay. What about Chalcedon?”

 

The royal guard stood up straight at being addressed. “Yes sir. I’m afraid my information isn’t much more than what you’ve already heard, but the soldier in charge insisted I bring it to you nonetheless. They confirm that the weapon is some sort of Adelasian one and state that they believe the only way to fight it is to dodge.”

 

Wearily, Captain Leroy turned now to the guard who’d come from Naissus, for he knew already that surely this was but more news of how they’d been positively outwitted once more.

 

“And you- did they they get the two in Naissus?”

 

The man seemed nervous to deliver the news and merely nodded before uttering a quiet. “Y-Yes sir.”

 

“How this time?”

 

“I-It was the two that hit Barduli. They… um…”

 

“Speak up man!”

 

The black haired man about jolted out of the saddle at his voice and took a moment to right himself.

 

“As you’d requested, the soldiers all waited in neighboring houses. But after we saw the men go into the prison, they never came back out! We searched it top to bottom, sir, multiple times. Them and the two bakers just disappeared.”

 

The captain swore profusely, dismissing them all with a wave of his hand. “Fine. Fine. Be gone, all of you. We can’t waste anymore time in securing the final prisoners.”

 

Slowly the four dispersed and the captain stormed his way back inside the prison, already dreading now having to make most of his trip after sunset due to these constant delays; but he made all the necessary preparations as quick as possible and finally, after what seemed like the longest day of his life, his unit was on the move with a heavily guarded carriage in tow.

 

Perhaps it was all the talk of men disappearing and appearing as if out of nowhere that set his mind on its current worrisome course of thought, for he kept swearing he heard horses following, but when he’d draw them to a halt to listen closer, there was nothing. Then, as if some supernatural force was indeed at work, the convoy found itself in the heart of the densest and darkest forest when one of the carriage wheels came loose.

 

Once more, they came to a halt; but this time, there seemed to be so many strange and ominous sounds, the calls of owls, the howls of wolves, the rustling of the leaves in the wind, each and every little noise bringing him to a pause in wonder if this was man at work or nature. He ordered the men to dismount and stand guard around the carriage, the wheel having come loose when it encountered a overzealous bush that had overgrown onto the road, and to keep as silent as possible.

 

“What’s that?” he snapped again and again, drawing them all to hold their breath and listen; listen through the noises of the forest to try and find a sound that didn’t belong amongst the cacophony.

 

They’d almost had the wheel back on when suddenly, the guards around the carriage fell down one by one as if grabbed by the legs and yanked towards hell itself. The captain turned his horse around at the first scream of panic, and even though he could see by the lanthorn attached to the carriage the men falling one by one, he still could not perceive what had caused them to do so.

 

His men now down, every one of them, and terror was rising in his already over anxious mind; it truly did appear as if something supernatural, something of the shadows and dark itself, seemed to slink out from beneath the carriage and one by one drag the men under with it.

 

The captain dismounted in a hurry, running towards the screams of his men that had begun to echo back in the dark of the night; but as he crouched to see what had become of them, he found all six of them bound by ropes and gagged by their own scarves to silence any further cries of help.

 

Unsettled though he was, he called up to the driver of the carriage in hopes at least one more man there could give him assistance, “You there, help me untie them!”

 

But when the man turned to face him, the lanthorn illuminating his face with an otherworldly glow, it was with eyes of red brown and a mask of blood red around them.

 

Captain Leroy stumbled back in horror and fell backwards onto the ground; his hand immediately reaching for his rifle and bringing it with shaking hands up to aim at the man in red.

 

There was the flash of the spark, the smell of gunpowder in the air, and right as the bullet seemed to find its mark, the man whipped the horses into action and the carriage rattled forward into the darkness; the bullet only lucky enough to clip the back end of the carriage top and lodge itself in the wood.

 

The good captain stared after it, then as if in a trance, he turned his eyes back towards his men pinioned and helpless in the heap they’d been left in. It was as he brought his gaze upon his unfortunate soldiers that he saw it, fluttering in the wind gently where it rested tucked into one of the ropes that bound them all tight. Not trusting his legs, he crawled over to them and plucked the roll of parchment with that damnable vermilion rose seal on it from them; his eyes burning with frustration as he read the missive they’d left for him.

 

_Truths and roses have thorns about them. Be careful, my dear captain, lest you prick yourself._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Passementrie : An additional accent or embellishment in silk or metallic threads, such as an embroidered braid, tassel or fringe.
> 
> Macaroni: in mid-18th-century England, this was a fashionable fellow who dressed and even spoke in an outlandishly affected and epicene manner. The term pejoratively referred to a man who “exceeded the ordinary bounds of fashion.
> 
> Kazoku: The Meiji government expanded the hereditary peerage with the award of kazoku status to persons regarded as having performed outstanding services to the nation. The government also divided the kazoku into five ranks explicitly based on the British peerage, but with titles deriving from the ancient Chinese nobility:
> 
> Prince, the equivalent of a Duke (公爵 kōshaku)  
> Marquess (侯爵 kōshaku)  
> Count (伯爵 hakushaku)  
> Viscount (子爵 shishaku)  
> Baron (男爵 danshaku)
> 
> Kiseru: (煙管 kiseru) is a Japanese smoking pipe traditionally used for smoking kizami, a finely shredded tobacco product resembling hair.
> 
> Liúxīng: The meteor hammer (Chinese: 流星錘; pinyin: liúxīng chuí), often referred to simply as meteor (Chinese: 流星; pinyin: liúxīng), is an ancient Chinese weapon, consisting at its most basic level of two weights connected by a rope or chain. One of the flexible or ‘soft’ weapons, it is referred to by many different names worldwide, dependent upon region, construction and intended use. Other names in use include dai chui, flying hammer, or dragon’s fist. It belongs to the broader classes of flail and chain weapons.


	3. The Finishing Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those that have commented and given their support! It means a lot!
> 
> A quick look at the outfits/weapons of the Vermilion Rose members is up here:  
> https://elusive-vermilion-rose.tumblr.com/post/178812951308/the-society-of-the-vermilion-rose

The little village of Florentia was quite still, the night wrapping the cluster of buildings in a blanket of deepest blue and painting the sky above with the light of the moon and stars; not a soul seemed to stir spare the two in the house nearest the edge of the forest, the flickering of a candle illuminating the shadows from within and casting them out into the night.

 

But this was not a candle lit in hopes to chase away the dark, for the steady burn of its wick and the drip of the wax down its length held the gaze of two women who’d been told to only set it ablaze with the fall of the sun; and Mila knew that surely the candlemaker had only dared stop and deliver such a gift with specific instructions for a reason of great importance.

 

“Aha, there it is!”

 

Sure enough, as the heat licked away at the wax only but a few minutes, their patience was rewarded; for there embedded in the candle itself appeared to be a small slip of paper meant for their eyes only. Mila wasted not a moment more, quickly blowing out the candle lest it burn too far and unshuttering the lanthorn that resided near it on the tabletop. The wax still warm and pliable, she grasped hold of the paper with her fingernails and pulled it free of its hiding place, quickly picking the bits of remaining wax free so she could unroll the small message.

 

“So what is it?” Sara asked, palpable excitement in her tone.

 

Mila slid the message across the table so she could read it as well.

 

_The nine you’ve named are all safely relocated if night has fallen and you’ve reached this message. I will leave information detailing their whereabouts with a prayer in our usual place. You may now begin to move without fear of reprisal against any of them._

 

The delighted smile that curled at Sara’s lips made Mila’s own lips echo in turn, for she could already tell that the idea of sitting and waiting was not something the strong-willed Crispino woman was content with. With a scrape of her chair against the floorboards, she stood and picked up the paper, quickly tossing it into the embers that still flickered from the fireplace.

 

“Well then, it seems we can finally get to work. If you’re not too tired, we could go get the letter now if you’d like.”

 

Sara pushed her chair back so quickly it almost toppled over, only a grab of her hand enough to prevent such at just the moment it mattered. Like a lioness laying in wait before striking her prey, she was poised to act the moment she’d been given notice that it was safe to do so.

 

“Now. Let’s not waste a second more,” she said breathlessly. “I want to strike while the iron is hot before the Larussians gather their wits and launch a preemptive attack.”

 

Mila rolled her sleeves down, knowing that she’d need even the slightest bit more warmth for where they were headed, and lifted up the lanthorn with a smile.

 

“You hot-blooded Apulians are quite the brazen type, aren’t you?”

 

Her cheeks flushed red, indignation rising in her eyes and almost reaching her lips before Mila countered.

 

“I like it,” she said with a wink that only seemed overly bold in retrospect.

 

Sara had already recovered herself and was doing her best to act unfazed with a cross of her arms. “Just because your mother was from Moravia doesn’t mean that same blood isn’t in your veins, Miss Babicheva.”

 

Mila fought back a smirk. “I never said it wasn’t. But I dare say, your fire burns twice as much as mine, Sara.”

 

It had been, perhaps, the first she’d used her name outright; so accustomed to speaking with formalities to customers and traders and not quite used to having someone that might be deemed a friend. But for a moment, she feared she’d overstepped some invisible line between them; for the Crispino family had far more wealth than her, even if they were by no means aristocrats. They were a proud family, one with a rising wealth due to wise investments and business maneuvers that served as an example to all those lower class that perhaps they could work to improve themselves as well. Even after their father’s death, they didn’t have to scrape and save each coin as if it were gold to get by.

 

There must have been something of her dilemma written across her features, because Sara’s fire quickly faded, replaced instead by wide violet eyes and a look that, dare she even consider it, seemed almost touched.

 

Sara quickly darted her gaze down to the floor, her voice sounding far too meek to belong to such a woman.

 

“I...thank you. I suppose I’m not used to someone finding my temperament anything but a problem for a lady of my birth. If my mother were alive, why she’d probably faint dead away at the mere sight of how I behave.”

 

“Well...” She crossed the space that separated them, the lanthorn hanging amidst them and casting shadows up onto Sara’s face that made her seem almost as if a halo had been lit around her head. “I don’t think good behavior is going to change the course of history, so perhaps your mother might have to rethink her stance.”

 

That brought a soft laugh to Sara’s lips, a smile following suit that seemed as warm as the light between them; time itself seeming to pause while Mila basked in the glow from it.

 

Quietly, she finally spoke up once more. “Come. I have secrets to share, but only with those who are hot-blooded and perhaps a bit unladylike by some certain rigid standards.”

 

Sara closed the space between them, the lanthorn’s shine blocked out as if eclipsed by the moon, and wrapped her in a far too brief hug of gratitude.

 

“You are too kind, Miss Babicheva.”

 

“Mila,” she clarified. “Please. Call me Mila.”

 

“Right. Lead on, Mila. We have much to do before dawn breaks I feel.”

 

And as if set aflame by the same passionate drive that burned in Sara’s heart, Mila felt herself perhaps let a little more of her Apulian hot-bloodedness take hold; reaching out with her free hand to clutch Sara’s as she began to hastily lead her down the stairs into the cellar where she worked.

 

They exchanged no words at first, just two girls at play and off to explore some secret hidden treasure that only they knew the whereabouts of; for even as Mila sat the lanthorn down to pull a stone slab up from the floor to reveal a narrow staircase leading further down, only looks of surprise and an adventurous spirit whispered between them.

 

“Stay close,” Mila murmured as they descended down the steep steps into the dark. “It’s dark as pitch and like a maze down here, so we must stay together or we might never find our way back out.”

 

Sara tensed behind her, the smell of stone and mildew thick in the air with a stale bite to it that seemed to enclose around them, each step down seeming to only further make it feel as if the darkness was alive, slithering up onto each step they passed and swallowing it up once the lanthorn’s shine swung past.

 

“What is this?”

 

Mila took a breath, the dank air already stifling. “A place only a few know of nowadays, hidden beneath the land and the progress mankind has made upon it.”

 

As she reached the last stair she paused, waiting for Sara to join her on the solid stone ground.

 

“These are the catacombs. They’re old...very old, back when a belief in the wrong god could get you killed. My father found this passage when he dug our cellar deeper and it was through them that he was able to aide your father during the invasion. When the Larussian Orthodox church took control, all the last vestiges of people who knew about these places were snuffed out. Just like the Catholic Basilicas that lie unused across the Apulian countryside, they were forgotten.”

 

Sara’s eyes had tried to take it in, but she could only see as far as the light allowed, for the rest was so dark and black it seemed immovable at first; the walls lined with shallow shelves sealed with plaster, and where age had taken its toll, the exposed skeletons of those who were buried there laid peering out into the gloom.

 

“So then, Saint Cecilia is down here?”

 

Mila grinned on realizing how quick she’d caught on. “Precisely. Those that were considered martyrs and saints have a fancier place than most. You’ll see when we get to it, but it’s a safe place to exchange messages without fear of anyone else stumbling upon it.”

 

They only made it a few steps before she felt the clutch of Sara’s hand at her sleeve and she came to a stop to turn back towards her. “What is it?”

 

“This is how you got Michele and Emil from the coast, isn’t it?”

 

“It appears I have no need to explain our secrets, for it seems you’re uncovering them before I can tell you about them,” she replied with a laugh. “But yes, those four brave men used a passage into the catacombs near the port of Santa Lucia to get them out of view and to my house without being seen. That’s why they seemed to appear in my house during the night. You were exhausted, so I didn’t ask you to wait up for them.”

 

The answers seemed to click one by one into her memory of the events, the suddenness of her brother and friend at breakfast now easily understood. Mila had hated to send them off right as they’d been reunited, but Yuuri had stressed the importance of the mission he was sending them off on. If they were to bring down Demyan, then someone needed to find the skeletons in his closet that he’d left behind in Rodiania and the original boundaries of Larussia. Eager to help his sister, Michele had only agreed to it on a promise from Mila that she’d allow no trouble befall her.

 

“Then let me ask of something I still don’t understand,” Sara stated, nudging Mila to continue her pace forward into the narrow passageways. “What was it my brother asked of you that I came in upon?”

 

For a brief moment, Mila was thankful for the absolute dark that surrounded them, for even at the mention of the promise, she could feel the heat rising to her cheeks; for the matter at hand was something Michele had been very specific about and it was yet something Mila had been able to discuss with Sara.

 

“To keep you out of trouble,” Mila tried, but as expected, that was met with a sharp laugh.

 

“Well you wouldn’t have agreed to that. As we’ve just discussed, I’m a lady that causes trouble not avoids it.”

 

She took in a breath, the air musty and dry yet with a pronounced dampness to it that stuck to the back of her throat; only after a moment or two ticked past in silence did she find her words once more.

 

“He expressed concern that a lady of your beauty might draw unwanted attentions in Florentia. And your friend had a suggestion that your brother agreed might curtail such a thing.”

 

The silence hung thick between them, only the sounds of their footsteps on the stone echoing about, and for a moment Mila wondered if Sara had even heard her.

 

“I hope Emil hasn’t gotten me into a different kind of trouble then,” Sara replied; but it was measured and clipped as if she’d already begun to bristle at the topic.

 

Mila swallowed back her fears and pressed forward. “The suggestion being that you might pose as a handsome gentleman instead and to further safeguard your identity, we could tell any in the town that inquire about your sudden appearance at my home by playing off that we were young lovers.”

 

Sara’s footsteps came to a stop and Mila reluctantly did as well, still fearful of turning towards her and seeing the disappointment on her face in the dim light. An eternity seemed to tick pass in absolute silence. Then, as gentle and soft as a sigh, Mila felt the press of Sara’s hand against her back.

 

“When I speak to the people, I will need to appear as Sara Crispino for my name carries enough clout to at least encourage them to listen, but…” And perhaps Mila imagined it, but she swore Sara drew closer at this. “For my safety and perhaps yours as well, I must admit, this is a good idea to pass unnoticed here.”

 

Mila let forth the breath she didn’t even realize she had held, her body instinctively easing back into her touch as she let a small nervous laugh escape in a huff.

 

“For a moment, I was afraid,” she managed, trying to recover her poise.

 

“Why?”

 

“That you’d find the idea repulsive at worst or ridiculous at best.”

 

It was Sara now that breathed out a small laugh, almost inaudible over the thundering of Mila’s heart in her ears.

 

“No. I expected as much from my brother, but this is actually a pleasant twist to the surprise as usually he just browbeats anyone who dares so much as look at me too long. I’d much rather play at Miss Babicheva’s beau than it resort to that.”

 

Mila turned now, knowing that she would only be content if she saw the truth of the matter for herself; and she was surprised to find Sara’s eyes shining at her through the dark.

 

“Perhaps I’ll have to chase the ladies from you with a frying pan instead,” she teased.

 

“Or perhaps I’ll have to duel someone for your honor,” Sara countered.

 

How long they idled there and shared a smile meant only for two, neither of them could tell.

 

But by the time they reached the wider passage as it veered towards the arcosolium adorned in the name of Saint Cecilia, somehow their hands had found one another's and taken hold; an action they would both attribute solely to the darkness and necessity of it and not to the matters that tugged at their hearts.

 

* * *

 

“Are you sure you’ll be alright alone?” Phichit called from the carriage, as if giving Yuuri one last chance to change his mind on the matter.

 

He shook his head. As much as the idea of facing Prince Victor alone was somewhat intimidating, he had a sinking feeling that somehow having Phichit there would only make it worse; for as much as he thought of the other man like a brother, when it came to reminding Yuuri of his embarrassments, he was quite adept.  

 

At least this way the only person who would be witness to Yuuri’s stupidity would be himself.

 

He waved to the three in the carriage before they closed it up and it began on their way. With luck, they’d reach Castra Martis by mid-morning and be able to follow through with the plan at hand. At least with their own driver, Seung-Gil, they need not worry about anyone being suspicious about their activities; for just like he was when it came to where to sail their ship, Seung-Gil was if anything loyal and not the kind to betray them.

 

Yuuri turned now towards the castle, the early morning light dusting over the white limestone facade in a way that made it seem almost intangible amidst the fog from the harbor; a fog Yuuri wished might withdraw a bit more by the time he left the castle so he could get a better look at the castle grounds in case he have need of that knowledge. As it was, the soft trickling of the fountain could be heard but not seen, even if he knew it laid somewhere in the middle of the grounds. To the left was the stables with their horses snorting and pawing in their stalls as the stable boys made their morning rounds to tend to them; next to the stables lay the barracks of the royal guard and like always, Yuuri could see the captain in his brilliant oranges and golds standing at the junction between the barracks of his men and the entrance to the great hall itself.

 

“Good morning!” he called out. “I have instructions from the prince for you. He said to wait in the hall and he’ll send his attendant for you.”

 

Yuuri nodded and smiled back, almost apologetic for the last time they’d crossed paths; though the chance the the good captain knew this simple tailor was one and the same with the red masked rider of the carriage was extremely small, he still hurried forward lest too much of inspection of his face might betray even a hint.

 

In the atrium, filled with its grand tapestries and elaborate carvings, Yuuri saw the ornate door that led to the throne room and the great hall that it resided in; but it would not be there that the prince would likely ask him on a day like this, for if Yuuri’s information about the castle’s routines was correct, the king would be busy with his advisors at this hour.

 

Sure enough, he hadn’t waited long before a familiar man called out to him. “Mr. Katsuki, this way if you would.”

 

“Thank you, Christophe,” he replied, the man looking surprised he’d even remembered his name.

 

But that was one thing Yuuri had learned well, those people who most would forget and deem unimportant could be the most crucial ally if times became dire, and it would be good to keep them in your favor just in case.

 

“On my on behalf and certainly not endorsed by my employer, may I say you look quite dashing today, Mr. Katsuki.”

 

Yuuri started in his step, having been so focused on taking in all the inner doors and passageways in the castle and where they seemed to lead to; he’d already gotten the impression the kitchen was beneath where they were and that wherever they were headed seemed to be the top of the tower, most likely Victor’s personal quarters.

 

“Oh. Why thank you,” he murmured with a blush.

 

It wasn’t like he’d fussed over what to wear for a good hour or so before deciding that he should go with something a bit nicer than he had the previous visits; selecting instead of a plain solid piece a banyan of deep blue silk woven with a large gilt dragon on its coat and a matching waistcoat.

 

His nerves pricked at his mind, little thoughts intruding as a pin would against cloth and punctuating every other step with a worry; he should have worn the brocade, he mused, for it might not be as bold as the choice he’d made.

 

Granted it seemed quite simple compared to the bundle in his arms, the blue velvet and its adornments of gold embroidery looking regal even in the dim lighting of the passageway they took that led upstairs; like the stars set in the night sky ready to have Victor’s silver halo of hair shimmering like a moon in their company.

 

They had come to a halt now, and though far less ornate than one might expect of a prince’s chambers, the formality and poise that had come over Christophe made Yuuri certain that the room could be no other.

 

“Sire, your tailor has arrived,” Christophe called after a gentle rap of knuckles against the doorframe.

 

“Come in!” a voice from within called and Yuuri clutched his bundle tighter as if the familiar fabrics and threads might somehow give him strength.

 

But he had hardly taken a step or two into the room after Christophe when a large blur of soft brown rushed forward and tackled Yuuri to the floor in a heap of velvet and fur.

 

“Makkachin, down girl,” Victor’s voice said as firm and commanding as Yuuri had ever heard it.

 

The wriggling bundle of fur gave a slobbery kiss to Yuuri’s face before a pair of arms pulled her up and away, another stepping down to aid Yuuri to his feet.

 

“I’m so sorry, she usually hates visitors so I didn’t think she’d react in quite such an enthusiastic manner.”

 

It was Victor, Yuuri realized with a sudden thud of his heart up into his throat, that had taken to assisting him, while Christophe coaxed the dog back onto the bed; his hands steady yet gentle all the same.

 

“It’s perfectly fine,” he managed, a hint of a smile pulling at his lips. “She must know I have a dog at home that tries to accomplish the same feat, although he’s much smaller and unable to truly knock me off my feet.”

 

Victor, obviously trying to do just that by charm and kindness alone, gave in return a soft smile that spoke far more than the words he accompanied it with.

 

“Is that so?”

 

Yuuri nodded, for his heart had lodged itself so firmly now in his throat that he was certain any further attempts at words would be a disaster.

 

If possible, though how Yuuri could not fathom, Victor’s countenance brightened even more and the creases curled under his eyes until they seemed to be smiling as well.

 

“Then it is no wonder that she deems you a trustworthy sort so quickly.”

 

He settled a hand on the lower part of Yuuri’s back, taking his posture of shock to be one of unbalance instead, which he was nobly trying to correct and Yuuri felt his knees threaten to go weak.

 

To be so close to Victor was by no means a first. He’d taken measurements of him that definitely strayed into territories rather intimate; but there was something about Victor reaching out to him this time instead that disarmed Yuuri completely. As a tailor, he’d found himself many times close to men exceedingly attractive, but never had one been so quick to return the touch, even in kindness.

 

For although by Yamato’s new standards, his class was rather elevated; to the customers of Larussia, he was seen as nothing more than a middle class merchant who was there to work and wait on them, not to receive any amount of niceties.

 

However, the prince himself had yet to let go his hold, and even when Yuuri straightened his posture to assure the man he was quite fine, the hand still lingered there, close enough for warmth but not quite touching.

 

“I apologize again for having to arrange this, but it seemed there were many happenings yesterday that I was expected to attend to.”

 

Yuuri shook his head and offered a polite smile. “It’s no trouble, your highness.”

 

“Victor,” he reminded, that hand coming to press one last time against Yuuri’s back before he turned to face him. “A friend of Makkachin need not be so formal with her owner.”

 

If he was fishing with that remark for a smile, he got it; Yuuri darting his face down as if to try and hide it but knowing it was in vain.

 

“Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint her,” he replied, that smile still lingering in his voice more than he would have liked.

 

“Sire, if you don’t need anything else…” Christophe seemed almost apologetic for interrupting them, and he’d already made it to the door before he’d even voiced this statement.

 

Victor nodded. “Thank you, Chris. I’ll ring the bell if I need anything more.”

 

And perhaps he was imagining it, but Yuuri swore if he read Christophe’s lips correctly, he had wished him ‘good luck.’

 

Once the echo of the door’s closure ceased to reverberate through the door frame, Victor stepped further into the room, beckoning Yuuri to follow.

 

He tried not to stare, as although the room seemed rather minimalistic in its decor and had only the pieces of furniture required of it, the light of the window was shining just so that it lit up Victor from behind and the light purple silk he wore seemed to dance as the sun caressed its surface.

 

“Well then, if I remember right from yesterday, “ Victor began, tugging the sleeve of his coat and beginning to pull it off, “You had the waistcoat figured out but were still getting the coat just right?”

 

Yuuri watched as he continued to take off his current waistcoat, leaving him in just his shirt and breeches before him; and quickly nodded while he tried to focus.

 

“Yes, I managed to get the waistcoat sewn up this morning…”

 

“Ah, you must have been up terribly early!” Victor exclaimed, holding out his arms for Yuuri to slide the beige waistcoat on. “Although I suppose some people simply enjoy being up with the birds.”

 

Yuuri gave a wry smile at that, moving now to pull the golden buttons carefully through the embroidered trim that adorned the edges around the buttonholes. “I prefer the night myself, but sometimes I have work to do and little time to do it in.”

 

He pulled back just in time to see the somber look on Victor’s face. “I’m so sorry, my father…”

 

“No, I didn’t mean it that way!” Yuuri cut him off. “I’m honestly very honored to make something for you, I’ve always hoped…”

 

Yuuri wasn’t sure if it was the surprise on Victor’s face or the realization of his words finally dawning on his own mind, but he shut his mouth quickly and turned away hoping the prince wouldn’t notice either his words or the blush that had now spread over his face.

 

“I had no idea that attiring me was such a desirable concept,” he replied, but his words were cautious and tentative. “One would think after handling the extensive wardrobe of Yamato’s emperor that mine would be comparably dull.”

 

Yuuri felt his throat go dry at that, for how could he even begin to explain that it had been a young prince with silver hair that cascaded over his shoulders and his equally beautiful mother that had made him want to make clothing of this caliber in the first place?

 

“There are just… certain people,” he managed vaguely, “who inspire a great desire to design clothing for and, at least in my opinion, I consider you one of them.”

 

Victor’s eyes were wide, that brilliant blue that Yuuri searched for weeks to find a velvet that matched it, seeming to look into his soul.

 

“Oh.”

 

Yuuri was certain he was imagining the light dust of pink on Victor’s cheeks at the confession, but there was a change to his tone when he replied as well.

 

“Then, if you would like…” he seemed tentative now as he met Yuuri’s eyes, “this need not be the only outfit you make for me.”

 

It fell quiet between them, the air tinged with hope that seemed to tug Yuuri’s heart along with it; he’d never dared hope and yet…

 

“If _you_ would like, Prince Victor.”

 

And there was that gentle smile again reaching up to his eyes.

 

“Oh I’d very much like to continue… this. I can’t say I’ve ever felt quite so comfortable with any other tailor, after all.”

 

Yuuri held up the coat just so it hid the smile that he knew was happily beaming on his face and steadied his voice so he could give a professional reply.

 

“Then I am honored to consider you one of my clients, Prince Victor.”

 

The prince closed the distance between them and pulled Yuuri’s hand free, bowing before him as he placed a kiss to the top of it.

 

“And I’m honored to be one, Sir Yuuri.”

 

* * *

 

It was almost midday by the time they’d made it to Castra Martis and blended themselves into the teaming bustle of the city by way of disguise. Phichit had been selected to take on the role of the baker, who would go to the main guildhall and ask if anyone had anything they needed to get to the Vermilion Rose.

 

With the emperor’s ball coming up, many of the middle class merchants from the area had received invitations in thanks to their lively trade with Yamato, and hopes were that they could easily and safely exchange information outside of Larussia’s control. While Phichit asked outright, Guang Hong and Leo had been entrusted to discreetly pass the time and location at the emperor’s ball that one could speak directly with the Vermilion Rose himself.

 

Already the news of the grand rescues of the bakers were on the lips of every merchant, worker or trader in the area and one of those so rescued bakers had mentioned to them that he feared some of the butchers might be next given their resistance to a new tax levied on their goods. Yuuri had, in his goodness and bravery, insisted that they therefore reach out to those people most likely to be enduring similar problems.

 

So that was how it was that Guang Hong found himself attired in in commoner’s dress, complete with a laced bodice stuffed with his meteor hammer he refused to leave behind, and sitting in a tavern with Leo dressed much the same; both of them with brown wigs that gave them longer hair that spilled over their shoulders in a plaited braid or, in Guang Hong’s case, a flow of curls.

 

It was true, with a touch of makeup and wigs, they certainly looked nothing like the masked men who’d recently whisked a baker out of Castra Martis’s prison to safety; but even so, Guang Hong found himself staring far too much at the loose strands of hair that seemed to frame Leo’s face. They had a job to do, after all, and being as it was mostly reliant on them listening in to the conversations of the others at the tavern, he really should be focusing more so on that task.

 

In the hour or so they’d sat there and drank, they’d been able to speak with three others so far that had need of the information they bore and it made the task at least seem worthwhile to see the looks of relief that had come over their faces on hearing that soon they could have someone who would listen to their problems.

 

“He should be finishing up over at the guildhall soon, I think,” Leo had remarked quietly as he gave Guang Hong a smile. “Then we just have to wait for Yuuri to arrive and we can change.”

 

Guang Hong turned towards him at that, and could feel the shift of the weight of his weapon against his chest as he did. He did his best to return even an ounce of the optimism Leo seemed to have a constant supply of to bestow on others.

 

“Sorry. I’m not being very good company, I’m afraid,” he murmured. “My mind’s on anything except what it needs to be.”

 

Leo just shook his head and if possible, seemed to smile even brighter. “You did all the work yesterday, so it’s only fair that I do what I can today.”

 

He blinked, the shock probably painted on his features much like the makeup was. “What are you talking about? You did plenty yesterday!”

 

He schooled his voice at that, already knowing his surprise had made him speak louder than he should of such matters.

 

“Just because you weren’t brandishing a weapon the way I was doesn’t mean you weren’t just as important,” he whispered in a rush. “Why once we get that crossbow back in your hands…”

 

Guang Hong drew quiet as Leo reached out at that and placed a gentle fingertip to his lips.

 

“Shh. Someone’s coming.”

 

He tried not to focus on the way his breath had caught, for certainly that was only due to the surprise and nothing more. But even so, a ghostly brush of Leo’s touch seemed to linger even now upon his lips and it was more than he could bear without at least acknowledging that his heart had risen to lodge itself in his throat.

 

Perhaps that was why he didn’t notice the man approaching him from behind, sliding his hand down Guang Hong’s back until he grasped a handful of his petticoated bottom.

 

The stool clattered as he jumped to his feet, turning with indignation burning strong in his eyes and every intent to strike back; to meet this unwelcome touch with a fistful of his own, but Leo had already moved between them, his hand quick to slap hard across the man’s face as he glared so sharply it would pierce as well as his arrows could.

 

“How dare you!” he scolded in a higher pitched tone of his voice. “If you dare try that one more time I’ll break every single finger on that hand one by one until you have no way to ever do it again!”

 

The man staggered back at that, clearly not expecting to be met with such a forceful resistance to his behavior; but before he could even stammer out a single word, other women throughout the tavern got to their feet and were calling out obscenities and curses at him as well. After a well aimed mug just missed his head, the barmaid called after his retreating form, “And stay out you rotten scum!”

 

Leo had hastily returned to his seat, his posture still tense as a bowstring’s pull, and downed everything left in the mug before him.

 

Guang Hong sat as well and spoke right as Leo’s words tumbled out as well.

 

“Are you all right?”

 

There was a momentary pause, both of them almost snapped out of their shock with the surprise of meeting each others words directly; but Leo inclined his head closer and gave a look almost pleading in its worry and Guang Hong knew he must be the one to answer first.

 

“Yes.” He took a deep breath at that and gave him a hint of a smile. “Thank you.”

 

That seemed to snap the string, Leo’s expression returning to something familiar and soft, the hard lines of his anger finally washed away.

 

“Sorry. I have no idea what came over me,” he murmured, almost more to himself than aloud.

 

Guang Hong reached out at that, clutching Leo’s hands from his lap and giving them a squeeze. “What are you apologizing for? You just chased off someone I suspect has been giving some trouble to the other ladies here and probably terrified him to never try it again lest you hold up your threat. That was _amazing_.”

 

Leo’s cheeks burned a deeper shade than the blush that dusted them, and he darted his eyes away, almost overcome by the praise. He shyly pulled his hands free and turned back to his empty mug.

 

And his ears already in the practice of listening to that which is not meant to be overheard, Guang Hong heard the quiet words as they fell from Leo’s lips under his breath and stared because he surely hadn’t heard him correctly.

 

There was a bustle of voices around them and there was a fair chance he’d only snagged a few words from Leo and some from another voice mixed amongst the throng; but he was not able to dwell much longer on it, for right then Phichit entered and sat down next to Guang Hong with an expectant smile.

 

“So I heard someone got slapped. What happened?” he asked as if already proud of Guang Hong for doing it, regardless of the circumstances.

 

He shook his head at that. “Someone got a little friendly with me and _someone_ ,” he nodded towards Leo, “jumped in before I could.”

 

Phichit’s eyes went wide and he stared, open mouthed for a moment, as if trying to take that information in.

 

“ _You_ threatened to break someone’s fingers one at a time? _Leo seriously?_ ” And although the last words are but a whisper, they seem to strike their target even stronger than the rest.

 

“It was the least I could do,” he pleaded, sounding almost sorry that he hadn’t done more.

 

Phichit leaned back at that and let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

 

“What?” Leo asked, defensively. He truly seemed at a loss as to how to handle Phichit’s reaction, and Phichit wasn’t making it any better by shooting Guang Hong a look that was a perfect mixture of impressed and proud.

 

“Just because someone’s beautiful doesn’t mean they should have to deal with that,” he shot back, and Guang Hong felt his heart drop back down into his chest at hearing those words now louder and with certainty.

 

Phichit’s grin was far too knowing. “Okay, okay. Calm down, I’m not mad. I’m impressed okay? Feel free to threaten any asshole that you feel deserves it. But on to business matters, I had a few bites. How about you two?”

 

Guang Hong appreciated the change of topic, for it gave him more time to try and decide what it was he feeling about the whole thing; a matter complicated by the fact that his heart seemed to be racing at a speed that he’d never felt it do before except when he was excited by the thrill of an adventure.

 

As it was, by the time Yuuri arrived to collect them, Guang Hong had thought he’d put the whole thing behind him; but as they stood to leave, Leo had reached out and placed his hand on Guang Hong’s back as if daring anyone else to try, and he once more found himself overcome with emotions he didn’t really know what to do with.

 

But before he could talk himself out of the idea, he did allow himself to ever so slightly lean into Leo’s touch, as if trying to tell him once more that he was exceedingly grateful.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri had been thankful that when finished he’d been left to wander “hopelessly lost” throughout the castle halls before Christophe tracked him down on the opposite side of the castle near the younger prince’s room; for while supposedly looking for the way back out, he’d overheard some rather interesting things that were definitely of note to a certain Vermilion Rose.

 

By the time he’d reached his companions in Castra Martis, he’d already put away that blue velvet the color of Victor’s eyes, gathered weapons and masks and outfits all, and hidden it under the guise of but a simple tailor’s cart of goods.

 

No one saw the cart veer quite severely off course for Chalcedon, trundling over rough grounds and disappearing into the edge of the forest just south of Castra Martis; and the farmers whose fields ran adjacent to that very forest had no idea that their horses had been borrowed for a certain adventure that afternoon.

 

Now, clad in masks and grinning like schoolboys, the four rode further south through the thick trees, looking to cross the river and find the road that ran from Florentina down to Zorzi.

 

“You know,” Phichit called over to Yuuri as they rode, “we could just let them be. It’s not like anyone will get hurt.”

 

But there was a spark of something confident and assured in Yuuri, a liquid fire that roared through his veins and drove him onward with a smirk set on his lips.

 

“Oh but it’ll be far more entertaining to let them think they’ve won,” he explained, “let them think their little trap has worked and then once the little prince is so certain he’s got me, I shall turn the tables on him.”

 

Leo shook his head. “Seems a little brazen. What if it doesn’t work?”

 

Yuuri let out a light laugh at that. “That boy has vastly underestimated me. Underestimated all of us. As his senior, I feel it duty to teach him not to do so again.”

 

Guang Hong grinned. “Seems fair to me. How else will the youth learn?”

 

“You’re only two years older,” Phichit countered.

 

“And wise enough to know that if Yuuri sets his mind to something, there’s no talking him out of it.”

 

At that Phichit sighed, shaking his head because he knew that Guang Hong was absolutely right, and Yuuri shot a grin back at him.

 

“He’s right you know. You can either help me or wait for me to finish, but I’m not backing down. Not now.”

 

“I should be used to this by now, but usually your stubbornness doesn’t involve riding right into the royal guard and prince with every intent to one up all of them.”

 

But Yuuri merely nudged his horse on faster, the wind blowing through the curls of black hair he’d slicked back from his face, and laughed; for he knew today the gods of fortune were smiling on him, and nothing, not even riding right into danger, would bring him down. Had you asked him that morning if he was apt to go seeking out trouble, he might have said ‘not today’ but now? Now that he’d been officially appointed by Prince Victor as his tailor? Now that he still had that touch upon his back lingering as if it was pushing him forward and into the fray?

 

Hell, he’d face down _two_ armies with the burning wildfire of bravery that had lit his whole self aflame after the morning he’d had!

 

“Come on, Philia,” he called back, that laughter still in his voice. “This is going to be fun!”

 

And that fiery spirit burned so bright that even the reluctance of the logical was soon swallowed up by the flame, their hearts too lit with a passionate fearlessness like their leader’s that drove them onward towards their goal.

 

Once across the river, they turned west, bringing their horses down to a walk as they drew closer and closer to the road this very trap was to be sprung upon; and lo, there it was, a carriage with a broken wheel and a group of guards around it doing their best to look like there was something worth stealing inside.

 

This little plan of theirs was so simple and quaint, it was truly laughable; for they believed these four men too daft to confer with anyone else, believed that they would surely come rescue “another baker” that they had no knowledge of before today. Yuuri almost wished Sara was with them, as he was certain she too would find it quite amusing that their trap hinged so confidently on their ignorance. As if they who expertly rescued all nine bakers and the three from the scaffolds of Sigrosk themselves would just risk their lives without thinking a moment first! It truly was, incredibly preposterous.

 

“There!” Guang Hong whispered as he brought his horse to a halt.

 

One by one, the other three did the same, and all of them turned now to Yuuri for the final instructions.

 

“From what I overheard, the prince himself is to be the decoy baker they have waiting in the carriage. I want to do everything like we would if this was a real prisoner, except once I get him and ride off, I want you to stay here and keep the guards busy so they can’t come and give him backup.”

 

The four gave one another a look at that, little smirks of their own now tugging their lips up as they thought to themselves what tricks they could use today.

 

“Ludus,” Guang Hong spoke up first, “did you bring your lasso?”

 

He blinked, but nodded that he had, his hand drifting to the rope at his hip.

 

“Still don’t know how you did that,” Phichit murmured. “No wonder they probably thought it was witchcraft.”

 

Leo seemed a bit embarrassed by the praise. “It’s just an old gaucho trick, but if you think it’ll help.”

 

At that Guang Hong reached over, his touch resting upon Leo’s bared arms and stoking the fire in him alive. “It’s amazing, Ludus. Scared them all shitless.”

 

Yuuri thought back to the look on the poor captain’s face as he watched each of his guard get yanked under the carriage one by one in the dark; it was true, the poor soldiers probably did think dark magic was at work, for those rope tricks from Arawak were not something any of them had ever seen before.

 

Any doubt that had begun to settle over Leo’s brow seemed to disappear at that, his eyes sparkling as he smiled back at Guang Hong.

 

“Well, if you say so…”

 

“I agree,” Yuuri put in. “Your ropework is definitely something we should use here. Guang Hong, you have your hammer right?”

 

He nodded. “Of course.”

 

“And I’ve got my two swords,” Phichit added.

 

“Okay, so this is the plan. Ludus, use your crossbow to try and scatter the men closest to the carriage. Chances are since they’re only pretending, they’ll retreat with the slightest provocation, and we want to leave our real tricks until after they think they’ve got us.”

 

Yuuri turned to Phichit with a smile, his subtle little gesture hoping to impart that he would trust no one more to complete this task.

 

“Philia, keep a count of the guard, and make sure none of them follow me. Challenge any of them that try.”

 

He took a deep breath, the intricacies of idea unfolding in his mindseye until he had no doubt that they’d succeed.

 

“And Agape, once it looks like the men will try to remount, take them out. Ludus can switch to his lasso to help. I don’t think the prince will risk confronting me until he’s certain I’m alone, so stay back at least a quarter of an hour after I ride off and I’ll meet you at the usual place.”

 

“What should we do with the guards?” Phichit asked.

 

Yuuri just smirked. “Decorate some trees with them and some rope. Someone will find them before nightfall.”

 

The four exchanged a final look at that, excitement palpable and spirits high; and at Yuuri’s final assured nod, they all kicked their horses back up to speed and made right for the carriage.

 

“There they are!” a voice, Yuuri was positive it was the captain’s, called out far too calmly to be real.

 

As requested, a shower of bolts from Leo’s crossbow rained down upon the scene; each one aimed so precisely it only missed each guard by a centimeter or so. And as Yuuri had predicted, the men scattered like a flock of birds, flying into the surrounding forest far too easily for there to be anything of value held prisoner in the carriage they left behind.

 

Yuuri rode right up, dismounted beside the door and yanked it open. His eyes met with those of a young blond boy who had a smudge of flour across his cheek and clothing that looked like it had been rolled in a mud puddle to give it some color. He held out his hand, gallant and heroic, like he would to a true damsel in distress.

 

“Come,” he called. “We haven’t much time!”

 

The boy had at least thought somewhat ahead, for once he shyly stepped out of the carriage, he bent to retrieve a rifle that one of the guards had so coincidentally left behind. Adorably, he was trying for that meek but tough act and he let out a rather unconvincing sniffle.

 

“In case we gotta fight ‘em, I’ll be ready.”

 

Oh and his attempt at an Apulian accent was utterly atrocious, but Yuuri just smiled and nodded, acting as if he was positively touched by the boy’s sudden chivalry. He gently helped him up onto the horse, then settled himself behind him in the saddle and urged his horse into motion; the wind soon whipping past them as fast as the blur of trees as they rode north towards Florentina.

 

They clattered through the city without much but a glance from a farmer out in his fields, then into the forest that separated the town from Barduli; and as expected now safely out of reach of help, the boy took this chance to make his move.

 

“S-Stop here, my house is nearby!”

 

Yuuri brought his horse to a halt and dismounted, holding out that gallant hand once more to his not-so dainty damsel; a sight made all the more amusing by that being the moment the boy turned the rifle towards him with a cocky grin.

 

“Hands in the air, you bastard,” he said, the bayonet only inches away from Yuuri’s chin.

 

He did his best to appear surprised and slowly held up his hands; the boy dismounting with skill that only those trained would have, then quickly standing before him with the gun leveled towards his heart.

 

“You are under arrest by the prince of Larussia. Any attempt to escape and you will be shot, is that understood?”

 

Yuuri couldn’t help it, for as much as he tried to stop it, that curl of his lips still quirked up into a smile.

 

“Well then, I see you aren’t a baker after all.” The boy’s smugness seemed to swell at the comment and Yuuri truly couldn’t help but pop the bubble of triumph that floated before him. “Although how a baker would work with so much mud on their clothing, I did find a bit odd. Also, there seems to be an awfully lot of black for someone of that job as well, now that I look closer.”

 

The prince’s smirk faltered, his eyes flickering down to his mud stained black breeches and vest over a stained white shirt before he tried once more to sharpen his gaze against Yuuri’s.

 

“And you talk too much for someone who’s under arrest.”

 

“It’s not an arrest unless you succeed,” Yuuri countered.

 

As expected, the prince stepped closer at that, the bayonet now hovering directly in front of Yuuri’s heart.

 

“Oh I will succeed. Father doesn’t care if you’re dead or alive, after all.”

 

“Then perhaps, it is you who is doing too much talking,” he replied calmly, then with a blink, he’d moved into action.

 

His hands darted down, his body dodging left, the gunshot not even causing him to falter as he unsheathed the rapier at his hip and deftly brought it up to parry the bayonet. When the prince tried to force it back towards him, Yuuri caught the bayonet’s blade with his own and twirled round it but once. And then, before either of them could blink, the rifle clattered to the ground several feet away.

 

Yuuri leveled the point of the blade against the pale throat of the young prince.

 

“See, far too much talking. And too much black. It’s bad luck on a Friday, you know.”

 

The boy tried to move, clearly hoping he might be fast enough, but Yuuri sidestepped him and brought the blade to press against his flesh once more, this time drawing a drop of blood.

 

“What was it you were saying? Something about it not mattering if left dead or alive?”

 

That seemed to get the point through, for a flicker of fear seemed to cross his eyes before he steeled them as if defiant.

 

“You wouldn’t dare.”

 

Yuuri laughed. “And you underestimated me, dear boy. No, killing you wouldn’t be fun at all. Far more enjoyable to send you home with a note to daddy.”

 

Once more he tried to move, and once more Yuuri moved faster, this time his arms quick to pin the boys behind his back. He gave him an apologetic smile.

 

“Terribly sorry about the future headache, but you’re just too noisy awake. Sweet dreams, little prince. Remember next time, the rose is not afraid to use its thorns.”

 

And before he could struggle or protest more than a word or two, Yuuri hit him in the back of the head with the hilt of his sword and he slumped unconscious to the ground.

 

He let out a heavy sigh, what little worries he’d had going with it.

 

“Let’s hope your brother doesn’t hate me too much for this; but considering you kept this plan from him he’ll probably think it serves you right.”

 

Yuuri tried not to think too much about how Victor may or may not take his younger brother being handled so roughly, using the rope he’d brought with him to tie the boy up tight and secure across the saddle; the finishing touch being the roll of parchment he tucked safely against his chest with a little message for whomever was lucky enough to find the unfortunate prince in Barduli.

 

Then with a smile and a shake of his head, Yuuri turned to walk back towards Florentina where he knew a welcoming drink of Mila’s best brew of ale was waiting for him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> arcosolium: is an arched recess used as a place of entombment. Early arcosolia were carved out of the living rock in catacombs. In the very earliest of these, the arched recess was cut to ground level. Then a low wall would be built in the front, leaving a trough (the cubiculum, "chamber") in which to place the body. A flat stone slab would then cover the chamber containing the body, thus sealing it. The stone slab occasionally also served as an altar, especially for Christians, who celebrated Mass on them.


	4. Cut from the Same Cloth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos! I'm glad to see a few people are still reading!

There had been far more excitement that evening than either Mila or Sara had anticipated, for to be suddenly called upon by the Society of the Vermilion Rose was both a pleasant surprise and an honor.

 

Sara was very grateful, as she’d hardly had time to thank them before for all they’d done; insisting on taking each of their hands and thanking them one by one for their help in her safety, that of her brother and friend, and that of the other bakers who were now all safely moved to cities where they wouldn’t be suspect.

 

Mila had, of course, supplied them all with a glass of her best ale; the Babicheva secret blend poured out freely and without cost to these four. 

 

Amongst the group, the one that seemed to intrigue Sara the most by far was their leader. At times he could be rather humble and quiet, yet other times he laughed and proudly talked of how he’d sent the young prince of Larussia packing. Interesting still seemed to be the relationship between him, Philia and Mila; all of them easily falling into a relaxed banter with one another as if they were long lost siblings of some sort.

 

“If you don’t want to give specifics,” she began, “that’s perfectly fine. But I just have a feeling you three have known one another for awhile.”

 

Their leader, Eros, gave a gentle smile at that; looking over to the other two with pride. “Due to circumstance, we had the luck of spending a few years together. That was why I knew I could trust Mila to keep you safe.”

 

Mila nodded, her smile wide. “And these two are practically brothers with their friendship that goes back years.”

 

The two in question gave one another a smile at that, and Sara could tell it was not an exaggeration. 

 

“Well, before you go, I do have some things I’d like to discuss; as it’s far easier in person than by letter to explain,” Sara began quietly, as if what little qualms she had over her plan were rising slowly like bread in her mind. 

 

Eros perked up at that, sitting down his mug and focusing on her intently.

 

“Are you ready to make your first move?”

 

Sara shot Mila a look, and at her supportive nod in return, she licked her lips and pressed onward. “I think so. Now that I know all the bakers are safely out of prison, I feel like it’s a good time to begin. I was thinking of starting in Sipious.”

 

“That’s southeast from here, right?” Agape asked.

 

“Yes and more importantly, I believe, it is the Crispino’s hometown,” Eros replied, his brown eyes warm and soft around the edges like sugar just caramelized. “A good place to start where surely many will be willing to hear.”

 

She gave a smile in return. “Seems you’ve caught on. Yes, I think the majority if not all of the people who live in Sipious would be likely to listen to my story and my goals. Even the bishop there, despite being appointed by the Larussians, has grown sympathetic to his people with time.”

 

“That’ll be half the battle,” Philia put in. “Making sure no one gets the Larussians involved.”

 

Sara levied Eros look at that, her eyes piercing and firm. “That’s why I wanted to ask you a favor. The guards often come through Sipious from Velia in the south, probably because they know if there is a city ready to rebel, it’s Sipious. I need them to be distracted for about an hour or so tomorrow, lest the people I’ve gathered be arrested for conspiring with me.”

 

She stood at that, quickly going to the hearth and picking up the letter laying atop the mantelpiece, and returning to place it in the hands of Eros.

 

“This is a letter from one of my trusted friends who lives there. It was with her help that I was able to find out which arrests had been made, and she has now given me a list of what times the guards are likely to ride through town.”

 

Eros took the paper and skimmed it over, something simmering in his eyes as he did; and when he met her gaze once more, that something had boiled over and was tangible in the air.

 

“And here I thought I’d not get to have any fun tomorrow,” he quipped, the hint of a laugh caught in the quirk of his lips. “I suppose, for your sake, I can put off my work for an hour or two and keep the guards busy.”

 

“I don’t want to impose, so if you’re busy…”

 

Sara stopped as Eros reached out and pressed a hand atop hers, that gentleness back now with a warmth that melted away her fears. 

 

“Apulia and those who fight for it come first,” he reassured her. “I couldn’t help you last time so this time I give you my all.”

 

“We’re lucky to have a hero like you ready to take up that fight,” Sara replied.

 

And just like that, the man before her once more became humble and reserved with a flattered blush rising to his face. “The only hero here is you, Miss Crispino. I’m just doing what little I can to help you along.”

 

She gave him a smile full of determination and hope. “Then I will make the most of the time you give me. By tomorrow night, the seeds will be planted and Apulia will be one step closer to regaining what is rightfully its own.”

 

“I wish you luck, Storge.”

 

“Same to you, Eros.”

 

And like a new recipe, Sara found herself thinking it over and over again that night as she laid awake in bed; she could account for so many variables, but just like bread, it would only be after it was fully baked that she could really taste the fruits of her labor.

 

Much like promised, a messenger came knocking early morning with a small little envelope and a beautiful yellow rose for “the lady of the house.” Sara did her best to play the jealous lover, calling angrily to Mila about who could sending her flowers, before she laughingly replied, “Don’t worry darling, yellow is only for friendship.”

 

The messenger seemed to be relieved he wasn’t cause for a row between the two and left, not knowing he’d played a part in their schemes and carried a message from the Vermilion Rose himself.

 

> _ My lady -  _
> 
> _ I hope the noonday sun shines upon you with luck. I’ve heard there is a chance for the weather to turn south an hour or so past midday, so I hope this little flower will give you some sun safely inside.  _
> 
> _                Yours always - E _

 

He had given them just enough of a warning that they could get ready and make it safely there via the catacombs, a winding series of tunnels that Sara had since learned Mila’s father had masterfully mapped out, allowing them a secret path into Sipious without having to worry about anyone seeing the still-a-large criminal Sara Crispino out in the open.

 

But the real surprise came as Sara went upstairs to change from her simple breeches and shirt, for Mila had brought her, instead of one of her simpler dresses, something far nicer and ornate.

 

“Is this yours?”

 

Mila shook her head, a wistfulness in her eyes now. “I suppose it is, but I’ve never had need of it. It was my mother’s. She has a closet with a few of them that I thought might be best for your big day.”

 

Sara took it reverently from her hands, her eyes skimming over the beautiful materials; the dress’s skirt a teal blue silk-damask with a large flower pattern, the bodice decorated with gold-plated silver thread lace and enameled fasteners, and the white linen shirt set off with billowing sleeves tied with ribbons. It would make her look as noble as her intentions were.

 

“I… thank you.”

 

She had not even one moment to look up before Mila’s arms wrapped around her in an embrace, nestling her head against her chest and sending Sara’s already overwhelming emotions fluttering.

 

“She would have loved you, Sara. Her and my father both.”

 

And mixed amongst the sentiment, hidden buried in her words, was a feeling that perhaps they might not be the only members of the Babicheva family that found themselves so enamored with her; a thought Sara shook from her mind lest it distract her on this ever important occasion, tucking it away in the back of her thoughts to revisit another day.

 

“I hope to do them and my family proud.”

 

“I know you will.”

 

* * *

 

To be perfectly honest, Victor had only one small regret about the incident with his brother and the royal guard; that being that he truly wished he could have been there to see the inevitable failure happen first hand. He’d done his best to try and convince Yuri that no one would be fooled by the little production, but he was not hearing it; and now it was Victor who was wishing he could cease hearing  _ about _ it.

 

“And then he dared draw his sword on me!”

 

Victor merely turned a page in his book and tried his best to focus on it. “Yes, I’ve heard that. But it’s not as if it’s the first time he’s held one of us mercy at his blade. Do remember I’ve found myself on the end of it as well.”

 

Yuri huffed, slamming the crumpled parchment onto the desk in front of Victor. “Yeah well, you didn’t get a personal little message like this!”

 

It had been the first time he’d presented it to Victor, though he’d already overheard the castle’s rumors about its contents; and he was honestly a bit surprised he had, figuring the boy would try and at least keep that shred of dignity.

 

Now, as Victor’s eyes skimmed the page, he found himself fighting back a laugh; for it was obvious that not only had the matter failed, but that the Vermilion Rose was beyond certain he’d come out on top. 

 

> _ They seek him here, _
> 
> _ They seek him there, _
> 
> _ It seems they seek him everywhere! _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Where shall he come from- oh nobody knows! _
> 
> _ That damn elusive Vermilion Rose. _

  
  


“I see he’s a poet in addition to all his other attributes,” Victor quipped, a hint of amusement in his tone.

 

Yuri grumbled, his agitation at the matter still boiling over; but after a moment he leaned next to the desk and shot Victor a look.

 

“You like that poetry bullshit, right? Because I just feel like there’s something here that we can use against him.”

 

Victor blinked; surprised that Yuri seemed to be asking after assistance, even if it was indirectly so. And although he felt like it was nothing but a taunting little ditty, he set his book aside and inspected the parchment closer as if it might give up some of its secrets if he put his mind to finding them.

 

And lo and behold, there was indeed something there that couldn’t be seen with eyes alone!

 

“The writer presses really heavily when he writes,” Victor began as he shuffled through the items on the desk until he found what he was seeking. “And it seems like there’s something here that pressed through the paper he wrote on top of this.”

 

“Are you shitting me?” 

 

Victor felt a little triumphant smirk at that, for his brother was surely not expecting him to find much. 

 

“If I shade over it with a pencil, we might be able to make the other words out.”

 

For a moment, the importance or danger behind finding what words were hiding there, did not cross Victor’s mind; too caught up in the mere mystery of the matter to realize how he could be endangering someone if the words revealed too much.

 

And so it came to be, that it wasn’t until those four words appeared under the rubbings of his lead that Victor felt that surge of remorse for what he had done.

 

_ Midnight. Emperor’s Ball. Library. _

 

Yuri swore loudly and snatched the page out of his grasp, his eyes practically bulging with excitement at the hidden message; and Victor could already see the vengeful smirk that curled at Yuri’s lips and he felt his heart sink with it.

 

While he would not say so aloud- nay,  _ couldn’t _ say so aloud- Victor truly had no intent to interfere with this masked man and his band of men; feeling that a little fun and the safety of the people came before any sort of honor to his father. But Yuri, Yuri who had always wanted to be better than Victor, wanted his father to recognize his achievements more than Victor’s, was willing to sacrifice much if the ends justified the means. 

 

“You can’t go,” he firmly stated, glaring now at Victor. “This note was given to me and so it shall be me that confronts the bastard.”

 

“I really don’t know what you think you’re going to do while in Yamato,” he began, trying to temper his panic into calm. “You can’t arrest one of their citizens after all.”

 

“No, but I can challenge him to a duel,” he shot back, the plan clearly brewing already in his mind. “And I don’t think the jerk will dare chicken out of it.”

 

Regrettably, it seemed his brother had come up with a rather good plan this time. Victor knew that in a fair fight, Yuri would surely lose, but the fact was after yesterday Yuri would by no means make it a fair fight; for his pride was so wounded that he would now do anything to patch over the damage done to it. 

 

Unwittingly, Victor had given Yuri the key to capture the Vermilion Rose and his chest hurt with the strain his tense emotions were placing upon it. There was nothing he could do now but try and find a way to warn the man, somehow convince him that he couldn’t be in that library lest his brother’s dastardly scheme befall him.

 

Victor forced a smile, and his cheeks ached with how much he pushed its limits, hoping his brother would not notice how strained it seemed.

 

“Well, I just hope if you do succeed you at least tell father that it was me who helped you find that clue.”

 

Yuri gave him a frown. “If I win the crown, I’m not giving it back.”

 

Victor kept his emotions locked away and cheerfully replied. “I won’t ask that of you. As you said, this note would not even be here if it wasn’t for your actions. I merely ask that you spare a mention of me, lest father think I’ve done nothing at all.”

 

He seemed to consider this, and then after judging it to be satisfactory, he waved a hand in his direction. “Sure, whatever. I’ll tell him you did one little thing if that’s what you want.”

 

“That’s all.”

 

“Fine. I’m going now and I don’t want to hear anything about you planning something for the ball, got that?”

 

Hoping, as always, his perfect mask hid what he felt inside, Victor nodded. 

 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

And as the door slammed behind his brother, he let his smile fall slack and his lips tighten into a thin line of worry. Quietly, so soft that even the retreating footsteps drowned it out easily, Victor murmured to himself.

 

“You can’t hurt who you can’t find, dear brother. And if I’m lucky, that daring Vermilion Rose will continue to be as elusive as a phantom to you and everyone else who don’t realize what good he’s doing for our people.”

 

* * *

 

Strength was something Mila Babicheva knew a thing or two about.

 

She knew that when she was young and before her mother died, she could hardly carry a pitcher of water without a struggle; only learning to handle bucket after bucket with ease after her mother was gone. Then, as she spent the longest three years of her life, across the sea in Yamato, she learned a different kind of strength; the type buried deep inside and carried with you, the type you could wield in a needle, the quiet strength that could hide behind kind and gentle eyes.

 

But the heart of the process, what really cultivated something strong, was when it was repeated; like the koji in sake, it wasn’t truly refined until it had gone through it over and over again. When you lose a second parent, especially in the name of treason to an invader, it grows something both beautiful and terrifying inside. 

 

Mila returned to her town that still looked the same in a country that was no longer her own; she refused help from others, insisting that she’d carry the weight of her father and mother’s duties all on her own shoulders, and in doing so, she found a strength that was rarely seen in women of that age.

 

Her hands grew calloused and hard, the barrels that she lifted day after day even when filled full of her handiwork done with a practised ease; for so little was the weight of such earthly things when so much already rode upon her shoulders. 

 

But there was a different kind of strength in the city of Sipious, a city who had been shaken to its core yet still retained such warm and loving hearts all the same; for much like their basilica had been brought to rubble four centuries earlier, they too still had that secret chapel hidden inside that weathered the earthquake’s attempts to destroy them. 

 

Sara Crispino was truly a child of Sipious, and it was with open arms that they welcomed her home.

 

Every person, as they filed down the stairs into the hidden chapel beneath the ruins of the basilica, came to her as they entered, wrapping her in embraces, clutching her hands in their own and professing how proud they were of her. Her hands were not as rough as many of the laborers there, blacksmiths, farmers and brickmakers all with a dirt under their fingernails that never quite left; but Mila knew her hands were still not the soft and delicate kind of a lady of nobility, years of familiarity with a rolling pin leaving its mark. 

 

They were all tradespeople, every single one of them, and it made them family in a way nothing else could; a family that always looked to the leadership of a Crispino to tell them what to do next.

 

It was before this most accepting and loving audience that Sara spoke, voice soft as if they were but children she was telling a bedtime story to; lacing the tale with hopes and dreams and professing that with their strength, the strength of their family and love, they could make those dreams a reality.

 

“I am not asking of you to risk your lives,” she stated with a gentle smile. “I would never ask that of you, for we have already lost too many to the Larussian army and I’d never ask anyone to sacrifice any more than they already have.”

 

Mila watched her before her flock, each of them eager faced and watching her with apt attention, as if she was the holy mother in the painting that still remained on the chapel wall; for Sara evoked such beauty in her strength, something deep and rich like a stout brew of porter that stirred your heart and buoyed your courage all at once.

 

“What I am asking of you, is to have faith; have faith in one another, have faith in the people of Apulia, to stand together and achieve a miracle.” She paused, the dim rays of lighting dancing across her features as she turned to look at each and every one present. “When you travel to the west, I want you to take these words with you. I want you to spread my words as you work your trade.”

 

There was not a sound in the chapel, every person there silent outside the beatings of their hearts.

 

“I will leave word with each tavern, a secret order which you can use to gather information. Ask for the special and they will offer this to you. It may be something like Monday’s best brew from Pisae or Thursday’s fresh ale from Roca. These are the places and days where we shall meet next, it shall always be at midnight and in the ruins of churches or ancient Apulian buildings.”

 

At this a wave of excitement seemed to ripple across the crowd, a quiet murmur that beat as if one collective heart, ready to head the call that their darling Sara had asked of them.

 

“Once we have gathered ourselves together, once there is far more of us than there is of them, we shall march for the nearest city under the thumb of the Larussian king. We shall take capture of their archbishops who impose their unfair taxes! We shall send their men running back to Sigrosk crying for help!”

 

Sara took a deep breath now, the full strength of her power, only now apparent. 

 

“We do not need weapons to have our voices heard! We shall take no lives and we shall lose none either! We shall not stoop to their hateful ways and will only impede those who try and stop us. And as I have been rescued by angels from the scaffolds of Sigrosk, any of Apulia’s people taken hostage shall be freed to fight another day. Their king knows of guns and war and hate, but we know of family, and freedom and love! And once we have run every bit of Larussian scum out of our lands, we shall free our family, our great king and queen and princess from the prison where they have been kept from us!”

 

The room was on its feet, their blood fully pumping with the thoughts of revolution flowing through their veins, as they gave cheers of “Vive! Apulia Vive!” 

 

For a moment her impact seemed to surprise even Sara, Mila catching the nervous glance of her eyes and the way she clutched her hands a little tighter together. But here was where Mila knew her strength would do its job, stepping out from the shadows beside the altar and up beside her, her hand firm against her back to remind her that even now she stood behind her.

 

“You heard her! We shall not back down and we shall take back our lands by action not force!” MIla called to the room. 

 

The cheers grew even louder at that, exclamations raining down over them in a shower of love and support; the strength of Apulia now unified underneath one banner.

 

Much like before, everyone in the room came forward and took her hands in their own, wishing her safety, giving her their blessings and gratitude; they had crowned her with a title so fitting that Mila knew it would soon be spread along with her words of hope.

 

Nostra Signora della rivoluzione.

 

Our lady of the revolution.

 

* * *

 

The leaves of Okutama had begun their shift from green into an array of colors predominated by yellow, thanks in part to the bevy of mulberry trees that took up a portion of the forested edge of the village, and with it the hints of autumn had begun to linger in the air.

 

Leo could see Guang Hong in his garden, working away at planting seeds for plants that would sleep through the winter and burst into life next spring, and he knew that as the air grew colder more and more of the color that lingered in his garden would be covered by leaves and snow.

 

Preparing for this inevitability, the bees were hard at work gathering what remained of their nectar so they’d have plenty of food stored for the coming winter; and Leo gave them a wistful look from his small shed window before turning his attention back to the creatures with him.

 

He’d just helped the last of his silk moths out of their cocoons and was watching over them as they fluttered around him; knowing that within the next few days they would mate, lay their eggs and then die.

 

And that was where his thoughts had remained, the events of the last few days of his own life so beyond his own comprehension that for a brief moment he envied the simpler life of the moths and bees in his care.

 

But perhaps, and he found his eyes drifting from a pair of moths who’d begun their little dance, he should look at it another way; for if there was anything that seeing this other side of Guang Hong had stirred within him, it was that deep and longing desire to understand him. Was it just that he wanted to enjoy this life while he was still here able to do so? Was he just like the flowers that burst forth each year from his garden that put forth a dazzling show before they returned to seed and dust?

 

To say he hadn’t found their distraction of the guards from Velia fun would be a bold-faced lie, that was certain. Something of their leader’s surge of daring and Guang Hong’s thrill of adventure were a matchstick to a candle that had long laid dormant in Leo’s heart; a candle that, although at first it merely melted the layers of wax away from the closed off life Leo had led before, had begun to burn stronger and brighter every time they rode once more into danger.

 

Yesterday, in particular, seemed to truly set his heart ablaze. 

 

They could have done many things to try and waylay the group of soldiers as they made their daily trek to Sipious to ensure that no one had stepped out of line since the day before; but Yuuri had, with that twinkle in his eyes that Leo once only knew from when he was about to undertake a particularly challenging bit of embroidery, come up with quite a wild ride for the group of not-so merry men.

 

Once more making use of the military uniforms they’d borrowed before, they rode as if their own little dispatch from the capital and met the Velian soliders on the road between Limisa and Sipious; telling them of urgent business that they were to assist with lest the general from Murgia hear all about how this lieutenant from Velia thought he was above orders.

 

That urgent business being, a little incident they’d created right before dressing in their uniforms and riding out from Sipious; namely, a farmer’s large flock of geese had been let loose amongst the vineyards and were, if not chased off soon, sure to ruin the crop.

 

It was downright hilarious to see the ever serious-faced lieutenant and his men weaving in and out of the vines chasing the geese, which were giving up more of a fight than probably anything else the men had ever faced; and even harder was the four of them trying their best not to burst into laughter from where they’d hidden on a nearby hill to ensure the geese kept them busy long enough.

 

Oh they surely had! They’d not gotten all of them dealt with until the sun had begun to set and by then that old lady who’d lost control of them in the first place was nowhere to be found; namely because by then Yuuri and his three friends were on their ship back to Yamato and so all of their previous aliases were no longer around.

 

Now back in the safety of his home and surrounded by the moths with their fleeting little lives, Leo thought that perhaps, even if just a little, he had begun to understand what made Guang Hong and Yuuri turn from quiet and reserved men into men facing down danger with a laugh.

 

And knowing he already had plenty of silkworm eggs waiting for him, ready to hibernate through the cold winter in the shed without any heat; Leo pushed open the door and watched as the little moths fluttered their way out into the world. They only had a few days, maybe three or four or five, and yet he wanted them to live as much as they could in that small span of time.

 

The call of adventure had never reached Leo’s ears before, but the pull of nature to live and to live with every fiber bursting with pure happiness was something he knew well. 

 

So… perhaps they weren’t so different after all. Guang Hong and him. A different song called to them both, but the message was the same. Live and enjoy each moment to the fullest. 

 

Before he knew it, his footsteps had led him down the little worn path that crossed from his yard, full of bee skeps and mulberry trees, into a garden still bright with color even now as the days grew shorter.

 

“Leo? What’s wrong?”

 

Guang Hong had paused where he was in his vegetable bed, his arms dusted in dirt and a smudge of it across his cheek, and he looked up with an inquisitive glance at the sudden visitor.

 

Leo shook his head, his smile as always finding its way easily back to his lips. “I was just thinking and then I was here.”

 

He let out a little laugh at that, mostly in his eyes and in the little puff of breath that seemed to shake some of the dirt loose. “I should be used to that by now, being as it seems to happen rather often.”

 

That much was true, so many times Leo had been following after one of the bees, curious to see where it went, and found himself standing amongst Guang Hong’s flowers. 

 

“I must have a bee buzzing around my mind and all I could think of was you.”

 

Guang Hong’s cheeks bloomed pink at that and Leo hastily corrected himself.

 

“You-Your garden! I just find myself here without a thought. Y-You know?”

 

He stood at that, dusting the dirt from his breeches and shyly seeming to shake it from his arms, and turned his head away as if to hide his face from view.

 

“O-Of course.”

 

And with that candle still burning strong, the wax of his cautious self melting away, Leo closed the space between them and reached out, ever so gently, and brushed the dirt from his cheek.

 

Rich chestnut eyes flickered up to him with something shining in them a bit differently than before, but Leo could not decide what it was, only that it was beautiful.

 

“I uh… I had a lot of fun yesterday.”

 

Guang Hong blinked, seeming to take that in before a brilliant smile blossomed on his face. 

 

“You did?”

 

Leo nodded, suddenly feeling a bit shy about all the musing he’d done on the matter; but nevertheless, he pressed on, determined like those little moths in flight to live as much as he could.

 

“I think I might just… be getting a taste for it. The danger, you know?”

 

If possible, Guang Hong’s smile grew even brighter at that and suddenly, Leo found his hands clutched in his two dirt covered hands in excitement. “Really?”

 

Leo hesitated only a moment before giving the hands a tiny squeeze.

 

“It must be contagious. And with you basking in it, it was really only a matter of time before I caught it too.”

 

Guang Hong’s laughter was light and spring-like and seemed to cause Leo’s heart to go fluttering off much like his moths.

 

“Well I’m not sorry if that’s the case. I’d much rather us both enjoy it.”

 

Leo smiled back, his cheeks feeling warm and his chest burning with something strong and steady. 

 

“Me too.”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri had always been incredibly aware of tension; a fact that made sewing a tad easier and life a bit more of a bother.

 

His easily excitable mind was apt to latch onto any sort of tense atmosphere or attitude, quickly redressing it into a personal concern that required extreme amounts of worry as if clearly he was cause of it somehow, no matter how much a stretch the correlation might seem.

 

Being prone to such awareness had sharpened his senses, that much was true- but at what cost?

 

A mind very eager to seek out fault, real or imagined, and quick to feel as if others thought ill of him; such a burden was the one Yuuri bore, and today it was proving to be quite an issue. Victor’s outfit was completed, and all Yuuri could see was how rushed and sloppy it appeared; a concern amplified a thousand fold when the door to Victor’s room swung open for him and a distinct thread of tension hung in the air as if waiting to be snapped.

 

“Sire, your tailor,” Christophe said quietly with a bow.

 

Quickly, Victor tacked on a smile and turned from where he’d been contemplating, brows knitted with worry, towards the door.

 

“Oh, is it that time already? My how time flies!”

 

Yuuri turned then, hoping perhaps Christophe might comment on the mood so he didn’t have to be the one to do so, but it seemed the attendant knew better than to address the matter, as he merely gave a cordial nod and left without a word.

 

Taking a deep breath to quell his inner thoughts, Yuuri offered what he hoped was a polite smile in return. “Indeed.”

 

They paused then, both of them silent yet staring, as if they knew something was off and wished to find a way to mend it. Yuuri finally decided it might be best to cut right to the heart of things.

 

“I would like to formally apologize in advance for the quality of the final garment,” he began, dropping his head forward and staring intently at his shoes. “I shouldn’t have attempted something this grandiose in such a limited amount of time.”

 

He could hear the soft footfalls as Victor closed the space between them, noticing his shoes coming into his view of the floor and finally willing himself to look up right as Victor reached out and collected the clothing from Yuuri’s hands.

 

Something different had gathered in his eyes, the worry of before replaced with another sort of worry, and his lips had fallen into a thin lipped frown. He seemed to study the stitchwork, surprise slowly folding itself in with the worry.

 

“I hope my father hasn’t said something to make you think that,” Victor murmured quietly. “Because in my estimation, this is far above and beyond what I would have expected under such short notice.”

 

Yuuri shook his head fervently. “No, he hasn’t I just…”

 

But suddenly Victor’s hand was firmly clutching his shoulder and Yuuri found himself far closer than he had expected to the prince. 

 

“Why don’t I try it on then and perhaps that might set your mind at ease. Okay?”

 

He didn’t wait to receive Yuuri’s answer before he’d turned to step behind the folding screen in the corner of the room; an action Yuuri tried to not think about too much because his face already felt like it was burning. But after what seemed like hours of his heart racing wildly out of control, Victor’s warm and light laugh finally broke that thread of thought and drew him back to attention.

 

“I would like you to know that just because I can dress myself, it doesn’t mean I can do so without apparently causing trouble. It seems I’ve snapped a thread on the waistcoat.”

 

Gone were Yuuri’s wandering thoughts, all replaced now by that urgent pull of a tailor to fabric in need of his care; and he boldly crossed the room, pulling his spare needle and thread from his inner coat pocket, and only paused once Victor came out from behind the screen to meet him.

 

Sure enough, one of the top buttons on the waistcoat had snagged a stray bit of the embroidery and had come loose, a sad little golden thread hanging off longing to return to its place beside its brethren. Yuuri’s hands were quick to reach out and assess the damage, only realizing after a fair amount of seconds had ticked past that his inquiring hands were resting across Victor’s chest, the elevated beat of a heart that Yuuri could not discern if his own or Victor’s being the the only sound.

 

Yuuri licked his lips, keeping his eyes focused and his hands steady. “There’s a bit more strain here than I anticipated and it’s putting too much tension on that outer row of embroidery. I can fix it, but to avoid it happening again it’d be best if I repaired it while you’re still wearing it.”

 

Victor steadied his posture. “I’m going to guess I need to stay still, hmm?”

 

“That would be advisable, as your cream waistcoat would show a blood stain rather noticeably.”

 

He let out a light laugh at that, in a little puff of air, and Yuuri could see his smile growing out of his peripheral vision. 

 

“Yes, if only I’d gone with all black like my brother. Then we wouldn’t have to worry.”

 

“You look better in blue,” Yuuri replied before his mind caught up with his words. 

 

They both started to a pause, eyes seeking out each other’s and shy little smiles tugging at their lips as they held one another’s gaze; and this time, Yuuri was certain of two distinct heartbeats that both seemed to be a little louder and faster than before.

 

“R-Really now? Is that why you suggested it?” Victor asked, a bit more hesitant than before.

 

Yuuri turned his focus back to his work, knowing that having his needle in hand and a heavy chainstitch to repair would keep his nerves at bay for at least a while. 

 

“It matches your eyes. Always a classic choice,” he replied, trying to sound casual about it as if he made this sort of talk with all his customers. “Combined with the cream and gold, it also represents all the colors of the Nikiforov royal crest. It seemed a fitting choice.”

 

“Yuuri.”

 

He was mid-stitch and the stitch and his brain slammed to a halt at the quiet utterance of his name, no silly titles attached. He didn’t dare look up, and before he knew what was happening, Victor’s hand had reached up to take Yuuri’s from where it was holding the piece steady.

 

“Thank you,” he breathed out, “for putting such care and thought into this.”

 

Yuuri swallowed down his nerves. “I-I’m just doing my job,” he weakly protested, darting his eyes back down to his work.

 

“The embroidery is all oak leaves and the bees on the cape? All symbols of my family- my  _ mother’s _ family. I don’t know how you knew, but I really appreciate it. Perhaps more than I can ever convey.”

 

There was a tension in the air again, but this time it wasn’t knotted with worry or tangled with concerns; the thread now moving smoothly as it united two pieces into one.

 

“That first day,” Yuuri murmured quietly, “when I asked what you had in mind, you merely said that you trusted me to come up with something fitting. I’ve never had anyone give me that sort of trust before with the design. Most people get upset if I put even one small thing in the wrong spot. So… I didn’t want your trust to be misplaced. I wanted to make something befitting of a prince.”

 

Victor’s left hand came up to press warm against Yuuri’s arm and he started at the sudden contact, his right hand jerking just so the needle pricked into his fingertip; and once more the tailor’s habits kicked in as he took the needle with his other hand and moved his bleeding hand further away from the light colored cloth.

 

He was so focused on the droplet of blood that he didn’t notice Victor’s movements until they’d ran their course, his hand moving immediately from Yuuri’s shoulder only to reach out and take Yuuri’s injured hand by the wrist and direct it closer to him.

 

It was not until Victor’s lips slid softly over his fingertip that Yuuri’s thoughts caught up, and then all that they could manage was a veritable jumble of emotions as Yuuri’s heart seemed to lodge itself in his throat. They both froze.

 

Victor pulled back, his eyes as wide as Yuuri suspected his own might be, and promptly redirected his eyes to the floor as his cheeks were painted with a blush.

 

“Sorry. Sorry. It’s just habit from when my mother taught me to sew,” he rushed out, taking a step back. “It always happened to me and she told me that keeps it from bleeding too much.”

 

Yuuri’s mind, ever helpful in it’s focus, proceeded to latch onto that fact rather than trying to process anything else.

 

“You sew?”

 

Victor seemed a bit surprised, but visibly relieved, at the change of topic.

 

“Used to sew. My mother was forbidden from teaching me any further once my father found out. She’d been teaching me embroidery.”

 

“It’s sad that your father did that. It’s a very useful skill.”

 

The relief now seemed to cascade over Victor’s features, and he stepped once more back into Yuuri’s reach. Yuuri was quick to return to his work, slipping a thimble atop his fingertip so he could continue without risk of staining anything.

 

“I wasn’t anywhere near your level though. I was lucky to get a few stitches together without making a mess of it. I’ve always wished I knew more so I didn’t have to trouble someone when something like this happens and a thread snaps.”

 

Yuuri had just finished the graceful flow of a heavy chainstitch, folding the waistcoat open so he could tie off the thread on the underside securely lest it cause trouble again.

 

“I uh… don’t know the specifics but,” he paused then, easily sliding the button through the hole without a problem. “I don’t believe your father has restricted me from showing you anything, at least not yet. So if you still have interest in basic technique...”

 

Victor stepped back at that, looking down at Yuuri’s handiwork as a soft smile curled at his lips. He met Yuuri’s gaze with a fond one of his own.

 

“I’d be honored to learn from you, Yuuri.”

 

And not sure where the rush of bravery and boldness had come from, Yuuri found himself replying in kind without a moment’s hesitation.

 

“And I’d be honored to teach you, Victor.”

 

* * *

 

They were an odd bunch of four, that was most certain. 

 

Phichit generally went with the flow, often either following in Yuuri’s brazen wake or tugging a more reluctant Yuuri into something he’d rather not do; for if there was anyone who was able to keep up with the stark contrast between Yuuri’s on one hand quiet and yet somehow still so daring self, it was Phichit.

 

Leo honestly a bit envied how easily Phichit seemed to adapt to his friend’s dual nature, for he was still trying to make internal reconciliation with Guang Hong’s similar duality.

 

Could you both want to protect someone and yet respect that they had every strength necessary to protect themselves? Such questions seemed to weigh on his mind more than usual lately, their recent adventures showcasing Guang Hong’s skill in a way that made Leo feel a bit useless in comparison.

 

And so he’d planed to ask Phichit for an answer while Yuuri was busy making the final adjustments to Guang Hong’s outfit in the neighboring room and had thrown them both out lest they somehow cause further delay on its completion.

 

“Yuuri just doesn’t want us teaming up to get what happened yesterday out of him,” Phichit had muttered, blowing on his cup of tea to cool it. “But I know Yuuri well enough to know that there’s no way he would have come back from that last fitting offering to make you and Guang Hong new outfits overnight out of stuff we had on hand unless something buoyed his spirits.”

 

Leo nodded at that, thinking back to how glum he’d been before he’d left for the castle. “Might just be that the prince said it looked fine. I mean we all told Yuuri that countless times, but it’s not like we count.”

 

Phichit snorted at that. “True true. I still think there’s more to it, but he’s determined to keep it from me. And when he’s determined to do anything…”

 

“Yeah, if he’s determined you might as well give up now. Not even the gods could stop him when he’s put his mind to it.”

 

He took another sip of his tea before leaning forward and lowering his voice. “All right. So Yuuri’s a lost cause, and we aren’t going to hear more unless he decides to spill. Which he probably will because next time he panics over something he’ll just blurt it out.”

 

“That would definitely be Yuuri’s usual method.”

 

“You on the other hand,” Phichit whispered with a sideways glance at the door to Yuuri’s workshop, “have got to tell me what’s going on with you and Guang Hong before I make vague embarrassing assumptions about things.”

 

Leo’s hands were up in front of him at that, as if trying to prove his innocence. “There’s no  _ things _ to assume about us.”

 

Phichit gave him a knowing look, rested his chin in his hand, and nudged his elbow against his teacup as it settled on the tabletop. “Really? Nothing?”

 

Unlike Yuuri, who could possibly hold out a secret from Phichit for weeks, Leo knew he had no such powers against him and decided it best to give up now before making a scene.

 

“I don’t know. It’s… complicated.”

 

Calmly, Phichit took another sip. “Define, complicated.”

 

“Uh I… I don’t know. Guang Hong’s like a bee.”

 

The analogy seemed to fly right over Phichit’s head and he just stared. “What?”

 

“Like… a guard bee or a scout or something. Like I know he’s able to take care of himself, he’s strong, and still I just…” He let out a sigh. “I just can’t talk myself out of trying to take care him.”

 

A soft smile curled at Phichit’s lips at that and he shook his head. “Right. I follow now. You’ve not really seen this side of him before and then he’s out there with Yuuri acting like they can face down the whole Larussian army by themselves, and hell those two probably could; but you still want to keep him safe. Because he’s special to you.”

 

“I… think that’s about it.”

 

Phichit reached out at that and gave Leo’s hand a supportive pat. “It’s not exactly the same, because me and Yuuri are a bit different than you and Guang Hong… but the advice works either way.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

There seemed to be something piercing in Phichit’s eyes, like he knew something Leo should have realized but hadn’t yet. “You’ll understand someday, I’m sure. But for now, just listen to my great wisdom.”

 

“Bestow away,” Leo replied with a hint of a laugh. He might not get what Phichit was driving at completely, but he sure knew his friend’s good humor was meant to ease his nerves.

 

“It is completely possible to know someone is capable of facing down danger themselves and still want to protect them from it. I mean, like you said with the bee-thing. Your bees all have stingers, but you still care about them and worry over them, right?”

 

“I didn’t think of it that way but… you’re right.”

 

“Of course I am,” Phichit said with a grin. “Look I know what we’ve gotten into isn’t child’s play, but trying to stop Yuuri or Guang Hong is like trying to stop a force of nature, it’s just not happening; so might as well go along with them and have fun.”

 

Leo had to smile at that, for he could just imagine Guang Hong’s expression if he dared try and stop him. 

 

“Thanks Phichit.”

 

“Stop worrying so much, okay?” he replied, giving his arm two mothering little pats. “I mean, we’ve all basically been knighted by the emperor and are going to his ball with all the fancy peoples otherwise invited. That’s definitely far more worrisome than our daring duo of friends taking on the Larussians singlehandedly.”

 

Leo didn’t have the chance to agree that the latter was definitely worrying him in a completely different way, before the door from the workshop swung open and Guang Hong entered wearing a perfectly fitted salmon pink coat closed with traditional Adelasian frog clasps. 

 

He might have stared. Just a little.

 

“So… does it look good?” Guang Hong asked, his eyes darting from Phichit to Leo and then to the floor.

 

“I used the pieces from that order we had that didn’t pay up,” Yuuri remarked, clearly proud of his handiwork. “But I think for a rush job, it looks damn good.”

 

Phichit was right, something must have happened with the prince to have given him such a burst of confidence after the dismal mood he’d left in; for now the only person seeming a bit hesitant about the matter was Guang Hong himself.

 

“It looks lovely,” Leo answered before Guang Hong could worry himself over it any more.

 

He blinked up at him. “You think so? It’s so much fancier than I’ve ever had before.”

 

Leo looked down at the outfit he’d been gifted by the suddenly inspired and generous Yuuri, another piece that had been left by another non-paying customer that had been assembled and fitted only hours before. Much like Guang Hong’s it had an elaborate array of embroidery work trimming the edges, soft gold stitching embellished with flowers that spanned almost all across the chest of the piece; but Leo’s was in a warm yellow that seemed complimentary to Guang Hong’s pink.

 

He gave a warmer smile in return. “It suits you, I promise.”

 

Guang Hong stared, his cheeks turning a bit pink themselves; before he quickly turned to Yuuri.

 

“Okay. Yuuri said he had something to talk to us about, so…”

 

Yuuri looked to his three friends with that little blaze of adventure sparkling in his eyes.

 

“It’s not much, but it’s important nonetheless. We cannot be too familiar tonight. The princes will be looking for any four men who spend a considerable amount of time together and we don’t want ourselves to be counted among them. So we go in pairs, Leo and Guang Hong and Phichit and me. At around eleven thirty, I’ll go to wait in the library for anyone who comes to speak with me, and the three of you can keep watch on all the hallways that lead there to either deter or encourage. I’m placing my safety entirely in your hands, but do not jeopardize your own safety. I will be masked and in costume, but you will not be. Do you understand?”

 

They all nodded, that swell of excitement tugging at Leo’s heart in a way he’d never let it before.

 

“Stay together. Be careful. Look out for each other,” Yuuri continued, adding finally with a gentle smile, “and have fun. I know fancy balls aren’t something any of us are accustomed to, but… I think we’ve earned this one.”

 

And not one of them could disagree with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Koji is steamed rice that has had koji-kin, or koji mold spores, cultivated onto it. Without koji, there is no sake.
> 
> Bee skep is basically an old fashioned version of a bee hive made from straw.


	5. Of Moonlight and Roses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the wonderful comments! This chapter features a GORGEOUS piece of art by smolkristen that you can reblog on tumblr here: https://smolkristen.tumblr.com/post/178774894120/the-elusive-vermilion-rose
> 
> Go give my great artist some love too!

From the moment he left Sigrosk for Yamato, Victor found his thoughts entirely consumed by two citizens from that very country across the sea.

 

He tried not to correlate the two, not wishing to group them together simply because of their heritage and his interest in them both; but if they did happen to be one in the same person that did mean his heart was only in the hands of one man instead of two.

 

Yes! His heart indeed! For Vermilion Rose had stolen it with his daring acts of justice and Yuuri had stitched himself into it with his gentle kindness; both of them hiding so much that Victor wished to know behind their warm brown eyes.

 

The more he thought about either of them the more his heart seemed to ache with questions unanswered and a burning desire to know them better.

 

With Yuuri, he had time; but with the Vermilion Rose, he merely had more questions.

 

Did the Vermilion Rose know how much one of the princes of Larussia admired him? How he wished he’d been the one brave enough to stand up to his father and make mockery of his soldiers? Outside of that first brief meeting, their paths had never crossed again; so chances were the man thought of him little else but another problem.

 

And that brought his thoughts back around to the night before him; those four fateful words a mantra in his head of warning, echoing over and over- _Midnight. Emperor’s Ball. Library._

 

Would fate help him spare the man from his brother’s plotting? Victor hoped most of all he might have that one luck tonight if nothing else.

 

“You’re annoyingly quiet,” Yuri snapped from where he sat across from him in the carriage.

 

Victor reluctantly turned from the window where he’d been watching the Yamato countryside roll past and towards his brother with a sigh. “Usually you find my talking annoying.”

 

“I just don’t want you over there thinking about messing up my plans, got that? You’re the only one who knows beside me so if something happens, I’ll know it was you.”

 

He shrugged, his caplet shifting with it. “Or perhaps he’ll just outsmart you like he did last time. It’s not like I aided him then either.”

 

The subject was still a sore one and Yuri’s booted toe kicked into Victor’s leg. “Shut up.”

 

“First you berate me for silence and now you demand it. You can’t have both, you know?”

 

Yuri huffed. “Just shut up and don’t think about messing with my plan. That’s all I want.”

 

Ever ready to force a smile and nod in agreement with something he had no intention of adhering to, Victor replied, “Consider me silent and not thinking of mischief then.”

 

He seemed to study Victor, as if trying to read through that faked smile into whether he was being truthful or sarcastic. When he gave a flippant wave in his direction before turning to glare out the window, Victor hoped it meant he’d found nothing amiss in his reply.

 

It wasn’t long until their carriage began to slow its pace, the emperor’s castle coming into view on the hilltop; so different from the castles Victor had known, with its tiled rooftops elaborate and sloping and beautiful contrast of wood and stone. Even in the dim evening lighting, the castle and surrounding gardens looked lush and refined, far from the simplistic hut his father had told him to expect.

 

But it was not to this building that they were going this night, instead circling to its left and crossing through the gardens to the two-story brick building built behind it, the western style making it look like a villa from the Renaissance with its white paint, open porches lined by columns and arches, and accents of metal filigree. It was a symbol of Yamato’s new emperor beginning to open trade with the world and was to hold balls, banquets and visiting foreign dignitaries. Yet, even with a design more akin to those on the continent of Amorica, the crowd that entered was certainly not something you would see in most Amorican courts.

 

There were those from the Ayutthaya Kingdom, the women with their extremely short hair and tall pointed hats that had various adornments, the Zhounguoese with their narrow dresses and elaborate headdresses that turned their hair into works of art, those from the Moai Islands with their tapa barkcloth skirts and those from Uluru all wearing earthtones with painted designs, the party from the United Lands of Arawak with their outfits embellished with ribbons and beads wearing necklaces made of silver and shells; and of course, hard to miss were those from the Kemetic Kingdom with their rich indigo garments and bright kente cloth woven with golden threads of the brightest of colors. All these peoples with their array of skintones rarely seen in Amorica, were of course often left out of political matters with the great northwestern countries that thought themselves above them; but this young emperor in his youth and optimism now brought them under the same roof with the most fashionable royals from Gaule, Brittony and Larussia.

 

Victor almost envied the lively dress of those from the other continents, all of them smiling and laughing as if they’d never been happier to attend a political event; for unlike Victor who’d suffered through so many balls he grew weary at the mere thought of another, he had a feeling for many here this might be their first.

 

As their carriage finally made it up to the entrance, doors opening to let them join the throng of peoples all milling about in the entryway, Victor hoped that his outfit made to the Amorican values of fashion, but by the hands of someone of Yamato would be equally eyecatching if nothing more but because he wanted to talk with pride about the tailor who made it.

 

If nothing else, it seemed at a glance, that the two Larussian princes were the only two with capes as part of their ensemble; Yuri’s of course in black, with red lining and Victor’s a rich blue velvet trimmed in cream fur and adorned with embroidered bees in gold.

 

But as the two began to make their way towards the receiving line, Victor couldn’t help but note that whispers had begun and many were giving the two a look; almost wary as if they were afraid the two were just as cold and heartless as their father was rumored to be. And being as the crowd seemed to be predominately made up of the princesses and princes of Amorican countries, their families not seeing it necessary to send a king or queen to visit with this boy emperor, it truly made Victor wonder what sort of things were said of Larussia in the rest of the world.

 

“Prince Victor and Prince Yuri of the Larussian Empire!” the attendant announced as they reached the front of the line.

 

Both of them gave a cordial bow to the gathered crowd, then turned towards the young emperor who seemed to be everything Victor knew his father would hate; for the boy was surely just about Yuri’s age and build, wearing a suit that appeared to be fashioned after the latest from Amorican styles, coat and waistcoat of cut silk velvet, figured in a design of a black and gold floral motif against a dark red ground.

 

Immediately, Victor knew it had to have been Yuuri who made the garment, for the embroidery was a dense pattern of large flowers and leaves, executed in a variety of threads with purl and spangles; so elaborate that even the insides of the cuffs and the buttons were just as intricately stitched as the front edges of coat and waistcoat.

 

“Prince Victor and Prince Yuri!” the young emperor exclaimed, practically startling them both with how quick he was to clutch their hands and give them a hardy shake. “It is an incredible honor to meet you both.”

 

“The honor is ours, your majesty,” Victor replied with a bow.

 

Emperor Minami glanced from Victor to Yuri with a wide smile, finally turning back towards Victor to address his next remark. “I’ve heard much of you from my tailor Yuuri. I’m glad to know his talent is being noted across the sea as well as here at home.”

 

At the mention of Yuuri, Victor couldn’t help but feel a bit of warmth creep into his chest. “I hope you don’t mind then that I’ve extended the offer to him to continue to work for me as well. But after seeing such work on such a short notice, I simply knew that going forward I would not be happy with anything less.”

 

The emperor seemed to examine Victor’s outfit at that, taking in the gold stitchwork that trimmed it in oak leaves and the delicate beads and sequins that caught the light just so; and he gave Victor a grin before turning to call out into the crowd.

 

“Yuuri! Yuuri come here! You didn’t tell me about this!”

 

Victor’s heart froze at that, thinking that surely he’d misheard the boy over the din of the crowd talking; but as his eyes followed his line of sight, he found that the emperor was indeed talking of the very same Yuuri that had worked so hard to make both their outfits.

 

Shyly, the tailor seemed to weave his way through the crowd; his outfit less flashy than those he’d made for emperor or prince, but somehow far more eyecatching than Victor thought either of them were. It was a coat of black and blue striped cannelé silk, elaborately embroidered in floss silks with stylised blooms, appliquéd with lace and muslin lilies, spangled with large mica sequins and with a waistcoat of ivory silk embroidered with matching decoration; even the simple black silk of his breeches seemed so much brighter and beautiful than the same fabric they’d used on Yuri’s black ensemble.

 

Following in his wake, of course, was his apprentice who seemed to be saying something to Yuuri with a laugh that earned him a feeble shove in the arm.

 

“Yuuri,” the emperor reiterated as he finally came up to him, “why didn’t you mention to me that you’ve been made the prince’s official tailor?”

 

He was certainly blushing quite a bit, as if extremely embarrassed by the fact the emperor had called him out; but Victor had a sinking feeling his own cheeks had flushed equally bright at the pleasant surprise of seeing him here.

 

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t think of it with everything else going on.”

 

The emperor turned to Victor then with a proud smile. “Can you believe he stayed up late last night finishing up two last minute orders? We’re lucky to have such a devoted tailor!”

 

Victor must have been staring, for he felt the sharp elbow of his brother in his side to remind him that he was having a conversation.

 

“Indeed,” he managed. “I do hope he gets a good rest after tonight then.”

 

One of the emperor’s advisors stepped up then, whispering something to the boy about needing to keep the line moving and earning the first frown Victor had seen from him; with a heavy sigh he looked back to his little audience.

 

“I apologize for taking up your time. It’s just nice to have someone I can talk to about this that understands.”

 

“No apology is needed, your majesty,” Victor replied, his ingrained poise kicking in finally. “I’m always willing to speak kindly of Mr. Katsuki as well.”

 

He could see Yuri rolling his eyes at the comment, but it earned a relieved smile from the emperor and Victor found himself glad he’d said it without stumbling over his words; the group of them wishing one another well before they exited the line and into the room where the other guests were idling about waiting for the dancing to begin.

 

But Victor’s attention was fully taken already, and he merely offered acknowledgement via a nod or slight bow in the direction of those other Amorican royals that seemed all too pleased to see another Amorican in the room; for now, he had a much more important matter to attend to and thanks in part to Phichit appearing to stall him, he finally managed to catch up with the retreating Yuuri.

 

“Yuuri, may I have a word?”

 

He exchanged a nervous glance with Phichit at that and was practically shoved by his apprentice towards Victor. “Go on. The whole point of this soiree is to mingle. So mingle.”

 

All too willingly, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving Yuuri alone with Victor; a fact made all the better by the fact that the Noricum princess had somehow found a way to draw Yuri into a conversation as well.

 

“Um. Yes. Sorry. I’m not really used to these sort of things, so I’m not sure what sort of protocol is needed here.”

 

A soft smile curled at Victor’s lips at that, and he gently reached out to take Yuuri’s hand and bring it to his lips.

 

“It is a pleasure to see you here, Sir Yuuri. If you don’t mind keeping me company, I will be more than willing to teach you the ways of the proper ball.”

 

He paused to consider this, the nervous little glances he made after his friend finally quelled by a deep breath and a steady fire of confidence seeming to light within his eyes.

 

“It would be my honor, Prince Victor. I only hope I won’t be too much trouble.”

 

Victor laughed at that, reluctantly letting Yuuri’s hand go but stepping closer to him so they could speak more privately. “No one can be as bad at these as my brother, so don’t worry yourself too much. I must ask, though by no means do I wish to offend, why someone such as yourself is even attending a ball like this?”

 

“I was given a title by the emperor in gratitude of my service,” he explained, almost quietly as if he found the matter kind of embarrassing. “It’d be something like a Marquis or Duke in Amorican titles, I believe.”

 

“Wow,” Victor breathed out. “And here you thought I shouldn’t call you Sir Yuuri.”

 

At the teasing remark, a hint of a smile finally crept onto his face. “Just Yuuri is perfectly fine. Though I suppose given the environment, maybe titles would be more acceptable.”

 

Victor could hear the music beginning in the ballroom as the crowd started to move in that direction and he could see a few familiar faces shooting him an odd look for speaking to someone so clearly not of Amorican ancestry.

 

Boldly, he reached out and took Yuuri’s hand once more, not caring what they thought of him; for surely the rumors would be drowned out by their vast amounts of complaints about all the other non-Amorican peoples to their parents.

 

“There will be plenty of people tonight not using the archaic etiquette of Amorica to speak and I’m perfectly fine with being numbered amongst them.”

 

“My, my, what would your father say?” Yuuri asked, a hint of something playful in his tone.

 

Victor just grinned, pulling Yuuri’s arm through his own and beginning to lead him towards the ballroom. “My father can fuck off.”

 

It earned him a peal of laughter that was so melodious and sweet that he thought he might just swoon from it; for the pleasant surprise of having the one person he actually enjoyed conversing with present at this ball had set his emotions fluttering into quite a tizzy.

 

Much to his chagrin, the emperor began the night with several group dances, which allowed the more experienced in the ballroom dancing to act as demonstration for the large portion of attendees that were not so familiar with Amorican court dance; a wonderful idea in theory, for it meant that everyone was often exchanging partners with other couples and it encouraged mingling. But for Victor, who was finding himself a tad clingy with a dance partner he’d actually chosen out of choice as opposed to decorum, it meant it wasn’t easy for him to spend the hours talking to Yuuri about anything and everything he wished to talk about.

 

They danced an allemande with couples from Hispania, Arawak and Moai, a cotillion with a large group from the Kemetic Kingdom and a quadrille with the princess from Noricum and his brother Yuri along with two couples from Brittony. But as they made their way through the minuet with a group made up of Adelasian couples including the emperor himself, Victor couldn’t help but use the brief dance with the young boy to inquire as to the rest of the night’s entertainment.

 

“I think everyone is quite enjoying themselves, your majesty,” he said cordially as he took his hand.

 

“I’m glad to hear it. We worked very hard to make sure this was up to your sort of standards.”

 

Victor smiled at that, hoping the boy knew that while most Amoricans would probably think the night a disaster, the others and Victor himself were able to enjoy a night unlike any other.

 

“I do hope we’ll have a few waltzes before the night’s over,” he remarked as they passed to one another again.

 

The emperor gave him a look with a knowing twinkle in his eye. “Oh yes. There will be a few couple dances. I take it you have a partner in mind?”

 

Victor tried, and was certain he failed, at hiding how flustered the direct comment had made him.

 

“Well, I uh… I just promised Mr. Katsuki that I’d introduce him properly to Amorican dances and I’d hate to leave that one out.”

 

As the emperor spun back to his original partner, Victor couldn’t help but notice him give Yuuri’s arm a gentle pat as he whispered something to him in passing; and after they made their final bows and the minuet ended, he couldn’t help but pull Yuuri aside and gesture silently in askance of the exchange.

 

“Oh. He just said that you requested the next dance,” Yuuri managed, seeming to stumble over his words far more than he had Victor’s feet; for despite insisting he’d never learned the dances before, he was a natural at it and took to the steps with an ease as if it was just another type of sewing.

 

Victor knew before the music began that the next piece would be a waltz.

 

Never before had the dance had such life and excitement in it, for Victor had danced it so many times with partners he’d selected due to political necessity rather than personal choice; and with Yuuri quick to fall right in step, it was as if they were floating across the ballroom floor.

 

“I just love a good waltz,” Victor murmured quietly, hoping somehow Yuuri might understand everything he left unsaid.

 

Brown eyes sparkled in the ballroom lights, twinkling like the stars that surely shown out in the night sky above them even now, and something in them seemed to answer back; a silent message written in the curl of his lips into a gentle and warm smile that told Victor that perhaps the message got through after all.

 

But like a fairytale, the magic couldn’t last forever.

 

The clock chimed out the eleven o’clock hour right as their waltz came to an end, and it was like a spell at been broken as everything else about tonight flooded into Victor’s mind. _Midnight. Emperor’s Ball. Library._

 

He needed to try and find a way soon to excuse himself without making it appear as if he’d tired of Yuuri’s company, a fact he’d never accounted for when trying to work out how best to ensure his brother didn’t succeed tonight; for in those plans, he’d anticipated a dance partner chosen at random or because his father expected him to, someone he cared not if he accidentally offended.

 

“Um Victor?”

 

At the sound of his name from Yuuri, he quickly tried to regain his composure. “Yes?”

 

Yuuri had dropped his eyes to the floor, a nervousness that had slowly been dissipating as the night went on now seizing him and drowning him with it. He looked almost afraid to speak, as if he was terribly worried he was about to do something horrible.

 

“I don’t want you to think it’s because I’m having a bad time or because I’m not enjoying… dancing with you. But I…” He wrung his hands and darted his eyes about as if someone might swoop down and help him. “I have somewhere I need to be.”

 

Victor stared. Was Yuuri the Vermilion Rose? Or was he just planning on trying to meet with him? What else could be his reason for this sudden need for departure if not that?

 

As if he sensed Yuuri’s panic, his apprentice came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder with a grin.

 

“There you are! We’ve got to go take care of those state rooms for the emperor, Yuuri. We promised him after all that we’d have it done before midnight.”

 

Phichit turned then and gave a nod in Victor’s direction.

 

“I’m really sorry. I promise, Yuuri would much rather continue dancing with you.”

 

“Phichit!” Yuuri turned on him, his cheeks burning crimson.

 

“I’ll meet you downstairs, okay?”

 

Somberly, Yuuri nodded in reply, watching as Phichit walked towards the exit to the stairs before turning back to Victor with a timid smile.

 

“I’m sorry. I am having a great time. A wonderful time, really. I just…”

 

Victor, relieved yet somewhat disappointed that Yuuri wasn’t running off to the library as well, reached out to take his hands into his own.

 

“No more apologies. Your duty is to your emperor first and foremost. I’m just thankful you’ve enjoyed this as much as I.”

 

The remark clearly surprised him, those beautiful wide eyes blinking up at Victor as if trying to believe he’d heard him correctly.

 

“My only request is that if you find yourself invited to another ball, you save another waltz for me.”

 

As the words settled, he could see Yuuri’s eyes grow wider, the shock finally giving way to an expression Victor found he could call nothing else but touched.

 

He nodded in reply. “Of course. I’ll save all my waltzes for you.”

 

It took every ounce of royal training in him to refrain from kissing him at that, for even if he were to embrace him with the emotions he had right now there would certainly be a scandalous rumor that would get back to his father about him having a liaison with some Adelasian.

 

Instead, he bowed forward and poured all that he felt into a chaste kiss upon his hand; daring to hope that somehow he might understand how much Victor had come to adore him.

 

“Good night, Mr. Katsuki,” he murmured, finally bringing his eyes back up to meet with his. “I look forward to seeing you again.”

 

He smiled, warm and bright, as he gave Victor’s hand one last squeeze.

 

“Have pleasant dreams, Prince Victor. And I’ll await word of when you’d like me to visit next.”

 

Perhaps it was but Victor’s imagination, his heart a swell of emotion that was unable to be quelled; but he felt that it was both of them who lingered as long as possible until they finally parted, and even then, Yuuri kept shooting him glances over his shoulder until he disappeared through the door.

 

Never had his heart been so incredibly full.

 

The quarter hour chimed out its four little notes and with them, Victor’s heart found itself seized with sudden and immovable worry.

 

And hoping everyone else there thought he was merely following after Yuuri, Victor left the ballroom in hopes he could make it to the library in time.

 

But, and here in laid the problem, as his footsteps carried him out of the ballroom and back into the entry from the staircase, Victor realized he had no idea where in the building the library was; and if he tried asking around it would only draw unwanted attention and even worse, potentially allow Yuri to discover he was indeed intending on ruining his plans.

 

There were four other rooms on the second level, two on each side of the building, and they all had identical doorways; Yuuri and Phichit had said something about preparing state rooms and Victor figured these were probably those very rooms, considering no one seemed to be going towards them. That left downstairs, and trying to appear nonchalant, Victor made a slow descent of the left staircase while looking at what rooms seemed to be on the lower floor.

 

There were three across from him, one of which had a door open and a small collection of people inside playing billiards and the neighboring room held a small parlor where a few couples were sitting and talking.

 

Looking to his right, he saw three more rooms to that side, and given the lack of people near them or doors open, Victor suspected one of them must be the library.

 

Once at the foot of the stairs, he took stock of his bearings once more and decided it must be the first or second room, for the third looked to be an area not meant for visitors as its door seemed far too plain. Upon not seeing anyone from either on the stairs or across the hall paying him any mind, he cracked the doorway to the first room and saw another small parlor, so hastily went for the second and was pleased to find that he’d deduced it correctly. It was indeed the library.

 

Rich mahogany wood floor, ornately laid in herringbone pattern, seemed to beckon him in with the little arrows they formed and before he knew it, he’d stepped inside and the door had swung closed behind him. Victor swept his eyes around the room, drinking in the elegant woodwork and detail that only those of royal birth could afford. Above hung a crystal chandelier and along one wall there was a fireplace burning low; a plush chair seated before it looking quite inviting and comfortable after hours on his feet. In fact, it was as if the room exuded a warm and comforting glow; the ornate gold trim and pillars adding to the aesthetic of a royal retreat and accenting the bookshelves that lined the walls in a way befitting a king. A ripple of motion caught his eye and he turned to find flowing green velvet drapes that billowed from the breeze that a slight crack of the window was allowing to slip inside.

 

The clock above the mantelpiece gave him a time of a little past eleven thirty and he felt a great relief settle upon his shoulders on realizing he must have been the first to arrive. Now all he need do was wait and tell the Vermilion Rose to leave the moment he appeared.

 

So Victor selected the first book in a language he knew from the shelves and sat in the plush chair, hoping if anyone was indeed watching, they could see that he had no intent to leave and would do best to make plans somewhere safer.

 

Minutes seemed to tick past, the hands of the clock edging closer and closer to midnight with each tick, and for a moment Victor wondered if it was he who had been tricked this time instead of his brother.

 

But as the clock hit upon a quarter till, Victor heard the slightest hush of silk rustling and stilled in hopes to hear something more; by no means expecting the sound of a soft voice speaking from the shadows themselves.

 

“Are you waiting for someone?” the voice asked.

 

Victor sat up very slowly. “Maybe.”

 

“Who?”

 

Victor started to turn around but then thought better of it, not wishing to scare off who he sought before he could talk to him.

 

“Does it matter?” he asked calmly.

 

There was a light laugh at that, so quiet it could have been the whispers of the leaves in the trees and nothing more.

 

“Perhaps I am that someone,” the voice replied, much closer now than before.

 

Victor sat down his book on the small table beside him and placed his hands visibly on the armrests, hoping to ease the man’s worries about his presence by showing he was not attempting to provoke a fight.

 

“Are you the Vermilion Rose?”

 

He could hear nothing but his own heart, racing and wild.

 

Then he felt it, the press of a hand as it settled on his shoulder and gripped it tight; a gesture meant to warn as much as to console him.

 

“I am.”

 

Victor swallowed, his throat suddenly dry and his heart so loud he was certain it would beat itself free from his chest any moment now; but he could not for the life of him find the words he needed to convey that he was not there as a danger but as a friend.

 

“Why are you here?” the man asked, a hint of something strange in his tone.

 

“To warn you. My brother knows you’ll be in this room at midnight.”

 

The hold on his shoulder seemed to grow softer at that, as if sensing that there was no threat from him at this moment; and Victor could feel his warmth as he stepped closer to the chair, the brush of the velvet tickling against the back of his head.

 

“Then it seems we have some time to ourselves,” he replied now, that something curling itself with his words into a flirtatious little lilt.

 

And oh how Victor yearned to ask him everything! To tell him all he knew that might help and warn him of anything that might harm, but it was not time for that when every minute it drew closer to the time his brother would appear!

 

“You must go. Now. Your safety is the most important.”

 

Like a ghost, a mere phantom that was never there at all, the touch retreated and for one brief moment, Victor wondered if he’d heeded his warning and already disappeared into the night; but then a hand settled, in that black glove of leather, a signet ring with red jewel glistening on his finger, gently on Victor’s arm, as he walked before him and into the light from the fireplace.

 

Here he was, the Vermilion Rose, standing before him in a light that surrounded him as if it was a halo; his black hair slicked back with little curls framing his face, his eyes just as warm and beautiful as Victor remembered them, surrounded by a mask of red silk that seemed to caress his face the way Victor wished he could.

 

Was this man even real? This beauty before him was in deep red velvet breeches that hugged his thighs like they’d been cut perfectly to fit his sculpted physique, a double-breasted waistcoat of matching velvet with large lapels sparkling in the dim lighting made of black lace embellished with black sequins, and a cravat pinned with another small red gem that twinkled as he moved; his shirt was of the richest red with sleeves that billowed wide and he wore tall black boots that seemed to make no sound as he walked.

 

There he stood before him, head cocked to the side as if he was trying to unravel the puzzle of Victor’s motivations simply by looking at him, and he smiled as if pleasantly surprised by what he’d found.

 

“We still have time, my dear prince,” he murmured, voice sultry and low. “I still haven’t thanked you for bequeathing me with such a lovely name after all.”

 

Victor sat forward at that and returned the smile genuinely. “I’m glad you approve. I would’ve hated to discover if you’d loathed it. Names can be rather important after all.”

 

The man took another step closer now, his eyes seeming to flicker with the firelight. “Indeed they can. After all, I do know yours and you still don’t know mine.”

 

“Perhaps safer for both of us, don’t you think?”

 

His eyes crinkled with amusement as he huffed out a small laugh, his smile curling upwards even more now.

 

“Perhaps. But I am just one of the Vermilion Rose, much like you are just one of the princes of Larussia.”

 

That fire in his eyes seeming to spark him into action; Victor slowly stood up before him and turned, hoping he’d follow, towards the cracked window that might give him some relief from the surge of heat he felt overcoming him. Surprisingly, he did.

 

“Well, you know to call me Victor. Now what shall I call you?”

 

“I don’t mind the name you’ve given me, but it seems you want the one I’ve given myself.”

 

Victor leaned against the pillared window frame, blissfully taking in the cool air against his skin and returning the coy little smirk with one of his own.

 

“I don’t always get what I want,” he toyed.

 

He reached out a hand and with one fingertip, he tilted Victor’s chin up until their eyes met.

 

“Yes, but you’ve taken a risk to give me warning. I think that at least, deserves some reward.”

 

Victor gulped, suddenly unsure what he’d gotten himself into yet excited by it all the same.

 

“I just want to help,” he stammered out, his heart threatening once more to race right from his chest.

 

He slid his finger under his chin now, curling his hand until it cupped against Victor’s cheek, upon which he bestowed two little pats.

 

“And if I’m not mistaken you aren’t lying about that either,” he countered, dragging his hand down until he pressed it firm over Victor’s heart. “So my dearest prince, as a token of my affection here’s a name which you can use to refer to only me.”

 

Victor felt tremulous, his knees going weak at the coquettish tone accompanied by such a gesture.

 

“You can call me… Eros.”

 

He swallowed down a breath, hoping to gather some nerves with it, and did his best to smirk back at him and reply in an equally flirtatious timbre, “Eros. I can see why you chose it.”

 

For a flicker of a second, something crossed through his eyes, the piercing brown seeming startled for a moment before regaining his cool composure; but surely, Victor was only projecting, considering how his emotions were wreaking havoc upon his poor heart.

 

“How did you find out I’d be here?” he asked, a bit more forceful now, as if reminding him who was in charge of this conversation.

 

“The little poem you attached to my brother- wonderful little thing, by the way, he abhors it- had the impressions of something you’d written on top of it. I didn’t realize until I’d revealed it that in my brother’s hands it could spell trouble.”

 

Eros moved his hand up, adjusting Victor’s cravat as if the fact it was askew was bothering him, and cocked an eyebrow. “It’s not like he could arrest me here.”

 

Victor sighed; the well-worn worries of an older brother for a moment taking the forefront of his thoughts. “Trust me, I tried to advise against it. I told him you’d figure out that little incident in the forest too, but he never listens to me. He thinks I’m out to sabotage him.”

 

Eros hummed at that, his gloved fingertips caressing over the embroidery on Victor’s coat almost appreciatively. “Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?”

 

He let out a little snort at that. “Yes, well I never said he was wrong about that.”

 

The fireplace continued to dance in the reflection of Eros’s eyes, something Victor was finding it very hard to look away from for even a second.

 

“So, if I am to take you at your word, you’ve come to warn me of your brother’s plans because you wish to help me. Is this an action born of honor or because you do not wish him to capture me first?”

 

At the mention of it, Victor deflated a bit; for he knew that sooner or later, Eros would question the reason behind his actions that night; and truly, the only recourse was to be completely honest with this strange man who’d stole his way into his heart.

 

“I do not know if you are at all familiar with my family,” he began quietly, the gentle weight of Eros placing his hand back over his heart acting almost like a balm on his frayed nerves. “Not those by marriage, but my mother and her family. Before she died she impressed upon me that there is only one thing I needed to remember to become a good leader when she was gone.”

 

“And what was that?” Eros asked, his voice imparting a sincerity and kindness at the mention of the former queen.

 

“That the needs of the people are the most important. If I am not serving the people, then I cannot become a good leader.”

 

There was a soft smile now, almost wistful as if he too was missing the late queen’s wisdom. “Your mother understood much then, it seems.”

 

Victor nodded. “In all that has happened, I believe my mother would have sided with you over my father. And so, I too wish to do the same. To help my people even if it’s only by helping you outwit my current family and their schemes.”

 

“So you came to warn me.”

 

“Yes, and…” he remembered now, all those thoughts he’d had for days about what he could do if he had the luck to cross paths with this man again. “There’s more you should know.”

 

Eros inclined his head as if to encourage him to continue.

 

“My father has made your capture the only way in which to inherit the crown. It’s why my brother, in his pride and in his youth, seems so foolhardy as to try and face you alone.”

 

There was a frown now on Eros’s lips, as if he’d perhaps suspected such but had hoped it wasn’t true. Even for his troublesome brother Yuri, this man seemed to hold some compassion.

 

“You should never gamble the lives of your children against your enemies,” he replied with a coldness that startled Victor, his mouth now in a thin line of resolute concern.

 

“That’s all we are to him. Pawns in his game. Spare no sympathy for him, for he’s never given it to anyone else.”

 

“Anything more?” he asked, after a few moments passed in silence between them; hesitating as if he wanted to ask after Victor himself but brought himself up short. “That I should know?”

 

Victor offered a tepid smile. “Yes. My father’s revenge for the bakers. He plans to disband all guilds outside of the major five, making it a criminal offense if the lower guild members are found assembling. He’s also raising the fees for the major five in hopes it will drive them under the membership quota so he can disband them too. He’ll release the proclamation tomorrow and I expect there will be arrests made soon after that.”

 

The hand that still rested softly over Victor’s heart slowly curled in, grasping the fabric in his fist a moment before he stopped himself and withdrew his hand to clutch it in anger at his side.

 

“Damn. I expected as much, but I’m still…”

 

And wishing he could do something, anything, to take that frown off his lips, Victor reached out and hesitantly took his hand, uncurling the fist and giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

 

“I’m sorry. Telling you is the only thing I can do.”

 

There was a steady and strong flame reflected in his eyes when he brought them back up to meet Victor’s gaze; something beyond the fireplace now burning to life behind those eyes.

 

“Thank you.”

 

How long they stayed like that, resigned smiles trying their best to buoy the other’s spirits, Victor could not have told you; for it was as if time itself had paused to lament that it couldn’t do more to aid the people in this matter either.

 

But at the sound of footsteps outside and the door’s handle beginning to turn both of them exchanged a panicked glance. They knew they’d lingered too long and now fate had begun to move once more.

  
  
“Close your eyes and kiss me, quick,” Eros whispered, leaning towards Victor as if the shadows might conceal them.

  
  
“What?”

  
  
There was no time to explain.

 

Eros grabbed him by the cravat and pinned him back against the bookshelf, his lips just as firm as his hands, the brush of silk dancing against Victor’s skin as Eros removed his mask; and then to Victor’s surprise, he slid his tongue warm and hot into his mouth, clearly unnecessary for the distraction but Victor was by no means complaining about it.

 

Behind them, the door swung open a moment, followed by a murmur of voices and a quick “Sorry!” as the door quickly closed upon their exit. Eros took a second before pulling back and for an instant, Victor felt like he was still pinned there without him even laying a single hand on him, his eyes still firmly shut and his lips still electric with the feel of the kiss.

  
  
There was the slide of silk once more. “It’s okay now,” Eros said quietly.

  
  
Victor’s eyes fluttered open and he was met with the warmth of brown eyes surrounded by red silk; something shining in them differently than before.

  
  
“So… you certainly live up to your namesake,” he managed, still feeling breathless.

  
  
Eros averted his gaze. “I didn’t see you coming up with any sort of solution and time was of the essence.”

  
  
“If only all distractions could be so enjoyable,” Victor replied honestly.

  
  
That earned him a questioning look from the man, as if he was trying to discern if he was joking or not. Whatever his conclusion, a slight smile curled at his lips.

  
  
“I’ll keep that in mind for the future then.”

  
  
They stood in silence, both of them studying one another as if there was something new to be learned in doing so, some sort of answer lingering in the thick air between them. Finally, with a reluctance that Victor was certain he was imagining, Eros turned towards the window.

  
  
“I should be going before there’s another unexpected guest.”

  
  
Victor caught his wrist, desperate in his need to touch him one last time as if to assure himself he was real, and brought his hand up until he could press a gentle kiss upon his ring. Something flashed through his eyes at that and Victor hoped it was the same excitement he had thrumming through his veins.

  
  
“Thank you, for being the hero our country deserves.”

  
  
Brown eyes went wide, but Victor didn’t waver.

  
  
“I hope our paths cross again, Eros. On behalf of my country and myself, I truly hope.”

  
  
That gave him pause, and Eros turned back, inclining his head ever so slightly in a genteel bow.

  
  
“I hope so too, my dear prince.”

  
  
And then, as if he was but a dream, he vanished into the night; leaving Victor to wonder if his heart would ever stop racing or if he would ever find another that drew him in with such a magnetic force as this man.

 

* * *

 

It had been almost a relief that so many others at the ball were just as out of their element as Guang Hong felt he was, many of them just as unfamiliar with the dances and the protocols followed by the northwestern part of the globe. It meant that it was easy to find themselves mingling with foreigners from the other countries without concern that they might do or say something out of turn.

 

Zhongguoese attendees, which included the main Imperial court, had been quick to find Guang Hong amidst the crowds and ask after him, all very interested and in awe of his life since he’d come to Yamato. But while they’d captured his attention, Leo’s had been taken by another, a woman who was part of the Arawak tribal council.

 

And when the dances finally came around towards something more intimate and reserved for only a pair, Guang Hong had turned hopefully to Leo only to see that the woman had beaten him to the punch. Of course, neither of them felt it appropriate to turn down someone of her status, but there had been a cold hollow feeling in Guang Hong’s gut as he’d watched them smiling and laughing as they danced across the floor.

 

Phichit had found him and apologized that their business meant there would be no chance for Guang Hong to secure the second waltz with him.

 

Much like a frost that had come too soon upon the spring blossoms, Guang Hong could feel his mood withering in recoil, leaving him but a shriveled and wilted version of himself by the time they excused themselves from the ballroom to assist in tonight’s little plan.

 

“Is everything all right?” Leo had asked after him once they were out in the hallway.

 

“Just a little tired,” Guang Hong lied, giving him a smile that must have betrayed his icy feelings, for Leo seemed all the more concerned after seeing it.

 

He’d reached out then to press a hand flush against his forehead, clearly searching for a fever that probably only seemed more likely by how heated Guang Hong’s cheeks became at the sudden touch.

 

“Do you think you’ll be okay?”

 

But much like a flower, Guang Hong craved the sun, and found that even as off as he felt he still couldn’t stand the thought of leaving the presence of it any earlier than he must.

 

His smile this time was perhaps a little more honest when he admitted, “I’ll be fine if I’m with you.”

 

It wasn’t as if their part of the job was difficult; while Phichit kept an eye on the door to the library they were to linger in the gardens outside the window to make sure no one got too good a look at the occupants of the room. In fact, once Yuuri had snuck his way inside to wait in the shadows for anyone to appear, Guang Hong found himself feeling much better if nothing else but that he was now surrounded by his two favorite things: flowers and Leo.

 

He found himself idly checking over the health of the rose bush, plucking away dead leaves and running his fingertips over their soft petals; knowing that with the taste of autumn in the air the few remaining blooms would likely be the last of the year.

 

“That councilwoman from Arawak seemed to really take a liking to you…”

 

Emboldened by the safety of the garden, he found his words tumbling out before he could think better of them.

 

Leo, smiling as always with a warmth that was almost tangible in the cool night, didn’t seem to think anything odd of the question.

 

“She’s the head of their agricultural affairs and was incredibly interested in my work with bees and silkworms.”

 

“That wasn’t the only thing she was interested in,” Guang Hong muttered.

 

If he sensed the coolness of his demeanor, he didn’t remark upon on it, seeming instead rather intent on staring at the rosebush behind him.

 

Guang Hong almost worked up the courage to reiterate the point, louder and more directly, but before he could, the sounds of voices coming towards them from the front of the building drew his attention.

 

“Leo,” he reached out and snatched the sleeve of his coat, their eyes meeting with a question of what they were to do to prevent anyone from getting a good look in the window behind them.

 

And for all he tried, Guang Hong could think of only two reasons someone would be outside the ballroom and lingering in the gardens alone: if they were doing something suspicious or… if they were up to something a little more amorous.

 

Guang Hong backed up against the facade of the building at that, pulling Leo towards him with perhaps more force than he intended, although it certainly created the desired effect; for after stumbling forward, Leo braced his arms around him on either side of his head, his face far far closer than either of them were expecting.

 

“Someone’s coming,” Guang Hong whispered. He couldn’t manage another word for a moment, his heart beating so loudly he was sure that whoever it was would hear that before even laying sight on them.

 

Leo swallowed down look of surprise on his face and gave a nod; then as if he understood the intent of the action, he lowered one of his arms and curled it around Guang Hong’s hip to rest his hand against the small of his back.

 

The footsteps grew closer and the voices louder, Guang Hong feeling like he recognized one of them and knowing that was perhaps not the best sign right now.

 

All his bravery, all his daring courage, seemed to lie a dormant seed that refused to sprout even the slightest; and knowing not what else to do, he took a step closer to Leo and gently swept a piece of his hair from his face before wrapping his arm around his neck.

 

“Did you enjoy tonight?” he managed, even his voice sounding like its normal strength was pruned away, leaving only something small and meek in its place.

 

But just as steady as the sun, Leo’s brightness didn’t falter even now in the autumn night.

 

“Yes, but…” he tilted his head, and that warm smile was even more powerful this close up. “I wish I’d been able to spend more time with you.”

 

Guang Hong took a deep breath, trying to bury his traitorous heart deep in his chest so it couldn’t betray him; but the more he tried to focus on the nearing voices, tried to dig through his memories to place the voice, the more he found himself distracted by how beautiful Leo looked bathed in the gentle moonlight.

 

There was something earthy about his smell, dusted with the hint of the flowers that surrounded them and reminding Guang Hong of the feel of rain washed dirt that was drying by the heat of the sun shining upon it.

 

The two voices came closer, one a girl’s with a western Amorican accent of some sort and the second a boy’s, somewhat young but gruff in his replies; it was that latter part that seemed to unearth the memory of it from his mind, knowing that there were only a few attendees of that age and knowing he’d have every reason to be lurking outside this window as well.

 

The youngest Larussian prince.

 

And that dormant seed in Guang Hong’s heart, now with the most stunning sun shining upon it, finally cracked open and burst forth; the roots of that bravery and courage drawing strength from nothing more than Leo being here, in his arms, and utterly breathtakingly beautiful.

 

He’d already faced so many dangers; gunshots from soldiers as they raced away, swords drawn and levied at his throat, men of great strength who could easily crush him if he wasn’t fast enough. But this… this danger was something far more perilous and it was going to take every drop of daring in his blood if he was to do now what he must to keep his friends safe.

 

With deft hands and motions he acted; the hand upon Leo’s neck reaching up to cradle his face while his other arm spun him back, turning him so his taller height blocked the window and pressed firm against it. He could feel the little gasp of surprise from Leo, his brown eyes wide and a dusting of pink upon his cheeks, and this only fueled the fire he’d set ablaze inside his chest.

 

And before that little seed of doubt could choke his daring back, he leaned up and pressed his lips, soft and hopeful against Leo’s mouth.

 

He could hear the little titter of a laugh from the girl. Could feel how Leo’s hand upon his back had clutched him closer. Could sense the beat of the footsteps drawing close before turning back.

 

By the time the sound of the front doors closing echoed softly into the quiet night, Guang Hong could only be certain of one thing.

 

The thrill of danger could never compare to this.

 

They parted finally, reluctantly perhaps, and stared wide-eyed at one another as if searching for an answer within their depths.

 

Guang Hong knew he needed to say something, to somehow convey with words that there had been something else there but necessity. But by the time he managed to open his mouth and attempt to gasp them out, the window itself swung open, pushing them aside as a figure dropped out of it.

 

It was Eros and he appeared almost equally shocked and embarrassed at the moment as they were.

 

“Come. Quickly.”

 

The moment was gone and all they could do now was follow in their leader’s wake.


	6. Trouble is Brewing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and reblogs! I've worked very hard on this story and I'm so glad I can finally share it with someone!

He should have expected there was something truly amiss not by Leo’s sudden appearance in the hallway, telling Phichit that Yuuri need to talk with him in the kitchen  _ now _ , but by the expression that seemed to be frozen on his face.

 

Phichit’s words didn’t help any. “I’ll go, but you’ve got to hide a second. Someone’s coming out of that room that probably doesn’t want to be seen.”

 

Leo already looked quite shocked, so Phichit figured the surprise of it being the elder prince from Larussia wouldn’t be any more surprising. He hurried down to the doorway at the end of the hallway and slowly crept inside.

 

Guang Hong was sitting on the floor with his face in his hands and Yuuri was using an open cabinet to act as a screen as he changed from his current costume back into his normal ball attire.

 

“What’s going on? Why is everyone freaking out?”

 

Yuuri’s voice, if anything, sounded more unnerved than he acted. “They know. The Larussian princes know.”

 

Phichit crossed his arms and leveled him a look over the cabinet door. “Yeah, I’d say they might considering you just had your tongue down his throat.”

 

He made a choking noise at that. “I panicked!” 

 

“You panicked and kissed Victor?”

 

“Yes!” he hissed out.

 

When Phichit only continued to stare, Yuuri continued. 

 

“What if that hadn’t been you? What if it was someone else? I had to do  _ something _ !”

 

“I’d say I’m surprised, but gods know I’m not,” Phichit muttered. “Considering the goo-goo eyes you’ve been making at him all evening. Just promise me he doesn’t know your identity, Yuuri. Please tell me that!”

 

At the hint of anger from Phichit, Yuuri’s panic seemed to subside and was replaced by a moment of clarity. “He doesn’t know. I’m an idiot, not stupid.”

 

Phichit let out a sigh. “Okay, okay. Just calm down and tell me what’s going on.”

 

Yuuri, who by now had at least switched out his breeches, threw off his silk and velvet and began pulling on his other clothing. 

 

“Victor came to warn us that his brother knew we’d be in the library at midnight. I’ve got a plan figured out so we can trick him, but I needed your help.”

 

Phichit turned then to Guang Hong, who seemed to be curling in on himself in a panic most unlike him.

 

“Guang Hong? What’s wrong with you?”

 

“I kissed Leo.”

 

Phichit stared. “What?”

 

“Accidentally. I was just trying to block the window and then I just… did it.”

 

He looked from one disaster to the next. 

 

“Am I the only person who didn’t  _ accidentally _ kiss anyone tonight?!”

 

Yuuri and Guang Hong at least had enough fight left to give him a sheepish look at his outburst, and they exchanged a glance of solidarity in their stupidity.

 

“Okay, we’ve got to focus. Yuuri, what’s your plan? It’s only about five till the hour.”

 

Doing his best to try and flatten his hair back down from the curls he’d slicked into it, Yuuri huffed out a sigh of frustration.

 

“You go back to watching. I’m going in the library as Yuuri to fall asleep. We convince him that I got tired while we were ‘helping set up the state rooms’ and you hid me here so I could rest in peace. Hopefully he’ll buy it and then our presence means the Vermilion Rose never had a chance to show up.”

 

“Can’t we just leave the library empty and not risk anything?” Guang Hong managed, clearly trying to think about anything but what he was dwelling on.

 

“No,” Yuuri replied swiftly. “If Vermilion Rose isn’t there and no one else is, he’ll realize Victor helped us out.”

 

“Are you sure he’s helping us out?” Phichit queried. “Or are you just hoping that because you like him?”

 

He frowned at that, as if the thought had definitely been lingering in the back of his mind. “Right now I’m going to hope it’s that he’s helping us.”

 

“Yuuri.”

 

“He gave me other information. We’ll see if it holds up. But…” he paused as if it pained him to even think it, “I’ll be cautious. There is still the chance he’s only trying to get our trust so he can use it against us.”

 

Phichit closed the distance between them at that and pulled his friend into a clearly much needed hug. 

 

“Well at least if the night goes to hell from here you two got in your kisses beforehand.”

 

Yuuri elbowed him in the side at that. “Phichit, not helping.”

 

“Sorry sorry! Let me get back out there and I’ll make sure the room is clear. Once it is, I’ll send Leo to give you the signal. Then you’ve got to get Yuuri back in the library from the outside window. Got that?”

 

The relief of focusing on their adventure at hand seemed to wash over them both, but Phichit had a feeling this wasn’t going to be the last of the matter; for now though, he too had a part to play to make sure this went off without a hitch.

 

Poor Leo still seemed frozen in the state Phichit had left him in, a shock that made much more sense after hearing Guang Hong’s story.

 

“Hey, go tell them I’m in place.”

 

He nodded and started to go and Phichit grabbed his arm. “And Leo? Promise me you’ll talk to Guang Hong about this tomorrow, okay?”

 

Like a spell, at the mention of Guang Hong’s name, he blinked himself back to normal; his cheeks dusted with such a heavy blush that even on his darker skin in the dim lighting Phichit could see it clearly.

 

“W-What do you mean?”

 

Phichit really wanted to clarify, wanted to make sure these two idiots communicated that there was clearly some real feeling in there, but he heard voices up on the stairs and knew he didn’t have the time now.

 

“Please. Now go.”

 

Leo did as instructed and he watched as he disappeared into the doorway, turning himself back towards the main doors and trying to look as casual yet firm where he stood; each footstep and voice something Phichit took heed of and kept in mind lest they stray too close.

 

Finally, there was a voice he recognized, and he tensed in anticipation.

 

“Where the hell have you been?” the distinct voice of the youngest Larussian prince echoed down from the floor above.

 

“I could ask the same of you,” Victor’s voice answered with perfect poise. “I’d left the room to tell Yuuri one more thing and when I came back, you were nowhere to be found.”

 

“I went out for some air with Princess Angelica.”

 

Phichit could hear the surprise in his brother’s voice at that. “Ah. So definitely not going to the library then?”

 

Prince Yuri huffed angrily at that. “It’s just about time, and I’m not letting you try and distract me from it. Why don’t you go back inside the ballroom and fraternize with commoners some more, since you seem to love it so much.”

 

Even from the level below, Phichit could tell that remark did as intended and shattered right through Victor’s decorum. 

 

“How dare you…”

 

“Look, I won’t mention a damn thing about you and him as long as you keep yourself out of my business tonight, got that?”

 

When Victor spoke once more, it was in so cold a tone that Phichit felt himself practically shiver from the iciness. “You keep yourself out of  _ my _ business and I will be kind enough to not try and stop you. Good night, Yuri. I’ll see you when we are ready to depart.”

 

And as his footsteps retreated back into the ballroom, Yuri’s began their descent of the stairs, clearly planning to sweep into the library right as the clock struck twelve.

 

But Phichit was ready for him and the moment he reached the last stair and turned to the right, he was standing right in his way.

 

“Oh my gods!” he exclaimed, perhaps a little louder and more melodramatically than necessary.

 

Yuri stepped back with a scowl.

 

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just… all that black, so close up,” Phichit continued, “you really ought to have a bell or something so you don’t startle someone when you heave about so!”

 

“What?” he snapped.

 

But Phichit was in perfect form, his theatrical skill honed in the royal court of Ayutthaya itself.

 

“Oh I know! We could get you one in black, it would blend right in. Then just like a little kitten, we’d always know where you were even in the darkness!”

 

“Get out of my way!” Yuri yelled back, practically shoving him aside.

 

But Phichit was too fast, easily sidestepping right back into his path. “I’m terribly sorry, your highness, but this area is off limits.”

 

He glowered and a lesser man might have reacted to it in fear. But Phichit, who had not so accidentally put a pin into his side only a few days before, knew he was all bluster and no fight.

 

“I said move.”

 

“I said this area is…”

 

He tried once more to circumvent him, but Phichit merely intercepted him once more.

 

“I don’t care. Where is the damn library?!”

 

“It’s in use right now, your highness.”

 

At that, something triumphant and smug seemed to rise in the boy’s piercing glare. “By whom?”

 

“I can’t…”

 

He lunged then, grabbing Phichit by the front of his coat, and did his best to look threatening; Phichit, on the other hand, did his best not to laugh in his face.

 

“Are you one of those bastards in the Vermilion Rose? Because if you are I swear I will see you hung tomorrow at dawn along with all your…”

 

Phichit was indeed wearing a suit of ciselé velvet with a red flower print that definitely might be considered a rosette by some, something he’d done intentionally in order to be perhaps too obvious about his connection with the group.

 

“Whoa whoa slow down!” he countered, flailing his arms as if he truly was frightened. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about. Vermilion who?”

 

His look was skeptical, but still deadly. “Fine! I’ll see for myself.”

 

“You can’t…” 

 

At the attempt to once more cut him off, Yuri finally hit the point in which it was clear his temper was about to boil over; and not having a pin with him to poke him with again to deflate him of all the hot air, Phichit instead played his part to-a-t.

 

“Look just don’t tell the emperor and I’ll let you see,” he pleaded meekly. Yuri’s smugness seemed to grow at that and oh how Phichit couldn’t wait to see how he would react next!

 

“We were supposed to be cleaning the state rooms, but Yuuri got really tired because he stayed up last night sewing. And after all the dancing, he could barely stay on his feet! The moment he sat down for so much as a second, he was out like a light. So I carried him down here and I’ve been chasing everyone off so he could sleep.”

 

At this, he slowly opened the library door, glad to see that Yuuri was perfectly in place; and Phichit knew the haggard and tired look upon his sleeping face was probably not so much of a stretch after the night he’d had either.

 

“See? There’s been no one else in here. I’ve detoured a handful of people of various sorts, so perhaps they were who you’re looking for?”

 

Oh what beautiful art it was to see the smug look on his face slowly overcome by a crestfallen mixture of anger and frustration! 

 

And without a word more, the boy stormed off, leaving Phichit behind him; waiting just long enough until he was out of earshot before he burst into victorious laughter.

 

* * *

 

“Who’s the handsome lad, Mila?”

 

They had stopped to make a delivery to the tavern in Zorzi and much like the tavern masters from Ulpiana, Roca and Drobeti, Madame Theresia had noticed that for the first time since her father’s passing, Mila wasn’t traveling alone; even so, it was still jarring to be asked about a ‘him’, and it always took a moment for Mila to gather her thoughts before she could find an answer.

 

“This is Serafino Di Corrado,” Mila spoke after a moment, seeming to shyly extend her hand towards ‘him.’ “He’s a baker that was displaced with all the happenings lately and he’s been staying with me. Sera, this is Madame Theresia. She’s run this tavern for going on twenty years now.”

 

Sara with her hair swept up mostly under a cap, yet still retaining enough of it to look quite the part of an attractive boy around Mila’s age, cordially nodded towards the woman.

 

“A pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

 

She smiled warmly. “Same to you, my boy. I’m glad to see Miss Babacheva’s finally let someone into her house. I thought we’d never see the day!”

 

They laughed along with her to be polite, but Mila realized that Sara must have seen her wince as she’d extended a hand and discreetly taken it to give a supportive squeeze. She had sadly not been the first person to imply that Mila  _ needed _ a man in her life now that she was without her father to take care of her.

 

Their conversation veered into the usual questions about the events in the town and in the region, complaints about the new proclamation affecting the guilds being discussed in a way that if there happened to be eavesdroppers there was nothing they could be arrested over. Then Mila did her best to pass along the instructions for those that inquired after a special drink to the woman, something she didn’t seem too curious about considering she quickly turned the subject back to the ins and outs of Mila’s relationship with Serafino instead. 

 

Pleading that they had a schedule to keep, they excused themselves. After loading their cart up with the empty barrels from sold stock, they drove their cart towards Ofantina; there, once more, they were met with much the same and Mila forced yet another smile and nod while pushing her ire down behind it.

 

“Let’s stop here for a bit, all right?” Sara had offered, pulling the cart off road between Ofantina and Pisae. 

 

Nearby were the ancient ruins of the former city of Egnatius and setting foot into it was like entering a town full of ghosts; no one had lived there since the malaria outbreak in the tenth century and nature had reclaimed what had remained. Wild and windswept, Sara couldn’t help but pull her hair down from the cap to let it flow along with the steady breeze.

 

“Is something wrong?” Mila managed after a moment of watching Sara’s hair billow like silk in the wind, her heart feeling as if it was being squeezed by a press.

 

She turned to her with a wistful smile, “I just thought both of us could use a break.”

 

Mila crossed the space between them, the old stone pillars around them overgrown with vines and plants fighting their way through the cracks in what appeared to be an old stone floor. She came to stand beside Sara; and they stood there as minutes swept by, carried by the whims of the wind.

 

“I’m certain you know this, but I have a feeling you could stand to hear it more often,” Sara began, staring off towards the horizon, “So I’ll just say it. You don’t  _ need _ a man to live your life, Mila. Not unless you want one around for company, at least.”

 

Her laugh was overly chipper and light and Mila felt it sounded hollow and false even to herself; but she’d heard it said to her so often after she returned from Yamato that it was almost ridiculous to have someone tell her the opposite.

 

“I can’t say I’ve ever had need or want of one, to be honest,” she said quietly. “Even if it would lighten my burden.”

 

Sara’s arm wrapped around her shoulders at that, as if she knew just how heavy a burden it was that she bore upon them. 

 

“Mila… it’s not a weakness to share a burden.”

 

She turned with eyes wide, her heart thundering in her ears. 

 

And Sara, with a soft smile, reached up with her free hand to tap gently upon her nose. “Trust me. No one would dare think you weaker for doing so, and if they did, well I’m certain you could smash a full keg over their head to make your point clearer.”

 

Her laugh this time was warm and rich, her emotions distilled now into something a little like happiness.

 

“Are you saying that because you know I’m capable of doing so or because you suspect I’ve done so already?” she asked, that cozy feeling seeming to bubble over.

 

Sara acted in mock scandal, raising her hand over her mouth and gasping dramatically. “Oh my, how unladylike of you, Miss Mila! I daresay!”

 

Mila snorted, but Sara pressed on with the act.

 

“Next thing you’ll be telling me you can sweep a lady off her feet without breaking a sweat and dear me, why then the men won’t stand a chance at all!”

 

And drunk on a pleasant brew of such great understanding flavored with hops filled with something sweet and wonderful that she dared not name lest it ferment it into being, Mila did just as she’d been dared and lifted Sara up into her arms; her laughter in little giggles that bubbled up despite her vain attempts to keep herself looking stern and scolding.

 

Suddenly, Sara’s arms were around her neck and her face leaned in close until her forehead rested gently against Mila’s own.

 

“Feeling better now?” she asked breathlessly, surely due to such a flurry of laughter.

 

“Yes. Although, I think perhaps you might be a bit wrong about me after all.”

 

Sara pulled back at that, her head cocked to the side adorably as she blinked in confusion.

 

“How so?”

 

Mila gave her a gentle smile. 

 

“It seems I’m quite fine when it comes to sharing my burden with someone like you.”

 

Violet eyes twinkled with a warmth that settled in Mila’s chest and filled up her heart entirely.

 

“I’m glad.”

 

“Me too.”

 

* * *

 

It was quiet in the early hours of the morning in the castle of Sigrosk, only the soft footfalls of servants preparing clothing and food for the royal family up and about, as dawn began to spill over the eastern horizon. Normally Captain Leroy would himself still be sound asleep in the barracks, but the king had given him orders and so he did his best to rise with the sun; a feat, he must admit, was only possible thanks to the sweetness and warmth of one Isabella Yang. 

 

Isabella was the head cook of the royal household, a skilled artisan in the kitchen who had been brought over at a young age from Zhongguo by her family, who professed the same skills and had been in charge of the kitchen before she grew old enough to do so herself. She was awake as usual, preparing fresh breads and rolls while the herrings and bacon simmered on the stove. 

 

“JJ, come now, please take something to eat with you,” she’d insisted once more when he argued that he shouldn’t take a meal before she did. “I can’t eat until the king and his sons are finished, you know that.”

 

Still, chivalry ran in his veins like blood, and the idea of taking a meal before her didn’t settle right with him, even if it was merely due to circumstance.

 

“Isabella, I would feel myself a most terrible person if I did.”

 

She waved a wooden spoon she’d been stirring with in his direction and frowned. “You will find yourself a terribly hungry person if you do not.”

 

There was a gentle knock on the backdoor to the kitchen at that, and she sat her spoon down and wiped her hands quickly on her apron as she rushed to answer it. The good captain was a bit surprised to see a frail looking old woman at the door with a toothy grin.

 

“Miss Isabella, how are you dearie?” she asked, taking her hands into her own shaking grasp.

 

“Quite well, Madame St. Just. I’m sorry I didn’t hear you arrive, I was just trying to convince JJ to take something to eat with him on his morning trip.”

 

The woman turned to him, a twinkle in her bright brown eyes, and gave him a smile. “Well, well, if it isn’t the good captain I’ve heard so much about! Come here, my boy. Come here so I can see if you live up to how handsome your lady proclaims you to be.”

 

His surprise must have been apparent, for Isabella blushed mightily and waved him over. 

 

“All good things, I promise JJ. Madame St. Just is the new supplier that brings the fruits and grains down from the north since the king has decided not to use any of the goods from the farmers in the south now.”

 

That, JJ indeed remembered, for she had been so worried about the matter giving them subpar goods since the farmers of the south were far more versatile and had a longer growing season than those in the north. It seemed from her obvious affection for the woman already, that her fears were unfounded.

 

He stepped over to her and took her trembling hand, bowing over it as he spoke. “A pleasure to meet you, Madame St. Just.”

 

She had a knowing smile and for one brief moment, his mind flickered back to that of the rider in red from that notorious gang of criminals in the Vermilion Rose; he shook it from his head, looking at her closer and wondering why she of all people made him think of that man.

 

“You’ve got yourself quite the beau, Miss Isabella. A fine strapping young man!” she murmured, giving him a slap on the thigh and then cackling out a laugh. “But clearly not used to being such an early riser, eh?”

 

JJ nervously rubbed the back of his head at that, giving her a sheepish smile. “I take it the weariness of my eyes must’ve given me away. No, not usually this early for me. But I have pressing needs to address in Murgia and so up I am.”

 

The woman turned now to Isabella and clutched her hands once more, giving her a warm smile. “My my, what is that king of ours up to now that’s taking your handsome man away from you at this hour of the day?”

 

Isabella turned to JJ at that and gave him a flattered smile. “I’m not exactly sure. Something to do with the arrests from yesterday, I think?”

 

He nodded and stood up to his full height as if the importance of the matter was not lost on him. “The king has given me a direct order to take my best men to the prison in Murgia so we can gather up those arrested in the protests yesterday and bring them here for trial. He suspects there might be some interference, as there has been of late.”

 

Madame St. Just just gave Isabella’s hands a pat at that, as if consoling her. “Ah yes, I’ve heard that he’s been rather plagued by a band of brigands of some sort. What is it they call themselves now? The Scarlet Primrose?”

 

“The Vermilion Rose,” JJ answered, his frustration quick to wrap itself into his tone at the name. 

 

“Well good luck with those troublemakers, Captain. I’m sure in the end, justice shall be served.”

 

The kindly woman, whose cart had been unloaded now by some of the other kitchen workers, bid them farewell and told Isabella she’d bring her some of those berries she requested the next day before shooting JJ a look.

 

Immediately, he knew that Isabella had probably been trying to track down some of the saskatoon berries from his homeland in Arawak, and he felt his heart grow warm with the thought that she’d taken his offhand request so seriously. Before he knew it, she’d packed him a small kerchief full of bread and jam and pushed it into his hands with a kiss.

 

“Stay safe today, JJ. Remember, that’s the most important thing.”

 

He nodded and returned a chaste kiss of his own and promised her he would take care, returning to the barracks to dress in his official uniform and gather with his group of men who were already saddled up and ready to ride. 

 

By the time he’d ridden northwest to Murgia, he was thankful to have something on his stomach; namely, because the moment he set foot in the city, he couldn’t shake this strange feeling that something was going to go wrong. He’d checked with every guard at every gate- no suspicious people had entered the city at all. Why in fact- no one had entered at all except for JJ and his group of four men!

 

The four men he left outside, telling them to prepare the covered cart they were going to use to transport the prisoners in and to wait for him to return with them. He went first with the warden down the corridors, to a very large cell at the end of the row filled with a good twelve or so men and women; tradespeople all of them, from the looks of it, that had protested the new law disbanding their guilds. Satisfied that the prisoners were indeed still there and ready for collection, he went with the warden to his office to retrieve all the paperwork that registered the names of the prisoners and the crime they were to be tried for in Sigrosk. It was then, as he sorted through the list of prisoners taken in the day before, that he saw it; for mixed in the file between one entry and the next there was a sheet of parchment with nothing written on it save a handwritten note.

 

He held this up to the warden and asked, “I’m not sure I understand this notation. What does this mean?”

 

The man took it from him, his eyes growing wider and more panicked as he read down the page, before looking back up to the captain with a look of absolute terror on his face.

 

> _ Redacted: Entries previously located here have been removed at the request of Messrs Eros, Philia, Agape and Ludus. We judge them absolved of any and all crime and have taken the liberty of removing them from the prison along with their records.  _

 

“T-They… They couldn’tve!” he stammered out, rising to his feet and almost upending his desk as he did so.

 

The good captain followed in his wake as he ran down the corridors past each jail cell until they came upon the largest at the end of the row once more, which this time was completely empty inside; the warden pointed his stubby finger with a trembling hand as if he’d seen a ghost.

 

“T-The prisoners! They’re gone!”

 

Captain Leroy wasted not a moment more standing there, turning with haste back towards the front of the prison and racing out of the front gates to where he’d left his men with the cart; a cart which, along with the four men, was no longer there. 

 

He turned to try and find his horse, but it too had disappeared; turning instead to the watchman there with his urgent request.

 

“You there! I need a horse immediately!” 

 

“Y-Yes Sir!” he replied, jumping up quickly, rushing to the small stable that adjoined the guardhouse and returning leading a horse by the reins.

 

The captain wasted not a moment more before he jumped into the saddle and rode off for the southern gate, hoping he’d predicted their movements accurately; and he was thankful when he saw the same guard there that he’d spoken with before idly lounging at his post as if nothing eventful had happened today at all.

 

“Need back through, Capt’n?” he asked with a northern drawl.

 

“Has anyone else come through this gate?”

 

“Nosir, can’t say anyone has.”

 

For one brief second, he thought this time he’d beat them and would be soon capturing not only the prisoners but the Vermilion Rose members themselves!

 

Then the guard continued, rather proudly, “I did just like your guards told me and haven’t let a soul through after ‘em, sir.”

 

“Just like…” the captain felt faint and he took a steadying breath. “Four guards?”

 

“Four guards, sir.”

 

“With a large covered cart?”

 

“Yessir. With a cart full of the prisoners bound for Sigrosk.”

 

He swore profusely, causing the poor guard there to look positively concerned about his welfare.

 

“I don’t fault you, my good man, but I dare say- that was the Vermilion Rose and his men riding off with the prisoners.”

 

The man looked thunderstruck. “But they says you’d ordered…”

 

Captain Leroy rubbed his forehead where a terrible headache had taken up residence along with his resignation to once more being bamboozled by these men.

 

“I gave no such order to my men. They were to wait for me to return. Come now, open the gate and I’ll see if I can catch up with them; but chances are they’ve disappeared from the roads by now.”

 

The man did as instructed, still looking quite shaken at what had befallen them as he bid the captain good luck.

 

He rode the entire way back to Sigrosk and saw not a soul along the way; coming up to the city’s wall and calling up to the guard with the last thread of hope he had.

 

“You there, has anyone come through this gate since I left it? Any carts or guards?”

 

The man shook his head. “No Captain. There hasn’t been anyone on the road from what I can see of it.”

 

And at that, Captain Leroy dismounted and sat down alongside the wall; leaning back his head against it and wondering how in the heavens the king expected him to catch four men who had the devil’s own powers granting them luck.

 

* * *

 

The great castle of Sigrosk was once the jewel of the Moravian coast, perched atop a hill overlooking the harbor and fortified much like the rest of the city during the medieval period, with thick walls and guard towers to prevent a siege; the moat around its base and the secondary wall preventing any who’d previously attempted to attack it. Demyan of Larussia had been the first and only man to successfully breach the two walls surrounding the castle, and had taken it as his prize for doing so; moving the entire royal family from far north in the cold of the Larussian tundra down to the warmth of the continental lands.

 

But despite the steep hill and the moat, despite the four corner towers on the outer wall and the gatehouse on the inner wall, all guarded with a dozen men to protect the treasures that laid inside, a single man with nothing but skill and stealth and the light of the moon did what no one else had ever done. He breached the walls of Sigrosk’s castle and not a soul, as of yet, knew he had done so.

 

In fact, he had now made it up the northwest tower of the inner wall and had slid noiselessly into the bedroom without anyone being any the wiser he was there; and once inside, Eros crept quietly over to the four poster bed without even the loyal prince’s dog waking from her sleep.

 

Slowly, with a hand practiced with keeping poised and steady, he pulled back the curtains from the bed until the light from the window shone upon the bed’s only occupant; and just as carefully he drew his blade from his hip and tilted it down until the tip of it nudged right under the prince’s chin, and blue eyes flew open with a start.

 

“It’d be best for both of us if you didn’t scream,” Eros murmured so softly the wind outside easily swallowed up its sound.

 

Victor, for his part, seemed to realize who the intruder was and all tension dropped from his shoulders and the panic left his eyes, returning them to the warm sea of blue that seemed to beckon Yuuri in like a siren’s call. 

 

He gave a small hint of a smile, something in it that Yuuri couldn’t quite place but he thought perhaps, and this could truly just be his hopes speaking over logic, he looked happy to see him.

 

“Then next time, might you find a less startling way to awaken me?” he asked sweetly.

 

Eros lowered his blade, but only so it hovered now over Victor’s chest. “If you could put your hands where I can see them, that would also be most helpful.”

 

Victor began to sit up at that, lifting his hands slowly, and Yuuri realized with a start as the blanket fell away, that there seemed to be nothing covering him besides it.

 

“Stop.” He took a deep breath and tried to compose himself. “Are you… sleeping naked?”

 

The prince had the dignity at least to look a bit bashful at the question.

 

“I have a pair of drawers on, since it’s getting a bit colder,” he countered, half embarrassed but trying to leverage it as flirtation. “Would you like me to put on a shirt?”

 

Eros withdrew his blade and sheathed it back at his hip. He tilted his head, honestly a bit endeared by the prince’s shy little blush, and gave a noncommittal shrug.

 

“If you want to, but I’m by no means requiring it.”

 

Just barely managing to say it without revealing his underlying feelings on the matter, Yuuri was in no way prepared for the remark to cause Victor’s blush to travel down his bared chest; and it was really quite a miracle that he didn’t press a hand over his heart at that, for inwardly he was swooning.

 

“So… to what do I owe this rather personal visit?” Victor stammered out, his poise a fair bit more ruffled than usual.

 

Eros nodded towards the bed and Victor pulled his knees up to his chest, bunching them there along with the blankets, as if it might give him a bit more covering. Trying not to let his nerves get the best of him now, Eros sat beside him and tried to offer what he hoped was a comforting smile.

 

“I wanted to thank you.”

 

Victor blinked in surprise. “Thank me?”

 

“For your warning and for your information about the proclamation. It was due to your help that we were able to handle both incidents successfully.”

 

The shock had given way now, a smile tugging his lips up into something that Yuuri thought might be relief, but the more he tried to over analyze every expression, the more likely he was to get himself into trouble. 

 

“I’m glad,” Victor replied honestly. “I’ve been worried about you.”

 

Despite himself, Yuuri knew his eyes must have shown their surprise at hearing that, for Victor quickly followed it up.

 

“Sorry. I’m afraid that comes across odd, coming from me.”

 

“A lot of this has been odd, coming from you, but…” he paused and gave a heartfelt smile in return. “It only makes me appreciate it even more. I’m well aware the risk you’re taking is great.”

 

Victor snorted a laugh at that and shook his head. “If I was taking risks, I’d try and stop my father myself. You’re the one taking the greatest risk here, not I. Why I can’t even imagine the risk you took tonight to come here and for what? To thank me? You’re  _ amazing _ .”

 

And his face had surely betrayed him at that, for hearing such praise coming from Victor of all people was certain to push the needle through all the layers he tried to mask himself under and pull his heart out into the open along with the thread. 

 

He darted his eyes away in hopes it might, even by a little, protect him; and hoping to keep himself from dwelling on it further, he quickly changed the subject.

 

“I take it you’ve heard of what happened today in the south?”

 

Victor nodded. “If you mean that some people from the western cities marched on Magna Graecia and managed to take control of it, yes. Aside from your little stunt in Murgia, it’s been all that anyone here has talked about since we received the word.”

 

“The ones who did that, those are the ones taking the risks,” Eros replied. He thought of Sara, who had risked so much to speak before the people of Ulpiana and Roca and Drobeti, gathering them together under one cause and enacting it without a single drop of bloodshed. If anyone was amazing- it was her, not him.

 

But Victor merely gave him a piercing look, as if he couldn’t quite believe how humble he was over this. “I am proud of my people, have no doubt about that. But, where they take risks they must, you take risks because you can. You had no urgent reason to see me tonight, but yet here you are.”

 

The room fell silent for a moment, nothing but the hush of the curtains in the breeze and the soft pattering of heartbeats could be heard; but as if his scent had lingered long enough in the air, Makkachin started awake and barked happily before lunging from the chair towards him and tackling him to the bed.

 

“Makka, down girl!” Victor called out, pulling her back. But he seemed almost confused on realizing she wasn’t attacking but licking him instead. 

 

Yuuri remembered now that Victor had mentioned that she didn’t always take well to visitors and for one terrifying moment, he worried that perhaps she knew too much about who he really was; a moment that was quickly gone for at the sound of her bark, there was a voice at the door from the night guard.

 

“Sire, is everything okay?”

 

Victor’s eyes had locked on his, and if ever there had been a doubt in Yuuri’s mind that Victor was serious about helping him, this did much to push it away; for he looked so panicked and worried, that Yuuri thought he couldn’t be acting that well, could he?

 

“Quick, get under the blankets,” he whispered, staring to tug up the corner adjacent to him.

 

Eros stared. 

 

“They will come in, they have to. Quickly, it’s the only way I can protect you.”

 

He nodded, closing his eyes as he pulled up the blankets and crawled under, finally yanking them over his head; and he laid there beside Victor trying very, very hard not to think about the fact he wasn’t wearing anything but a scrap of fabric he called drawers. He was sure if he did think about it more, his heartbeat would surely give him away.

 

Victor shifted at that, scooting closer to Eros and coaxing Makkachin to lay down atop the noticeable bump in the covers where he laid; but what he noticed most of all, was that he’d slid his right hand under the covers and settled it gently against Eros’s shoulder. 

 

Before Yuuri could think, he found himself reaching up to grip his hand tight.

 

“Sire!” the voice had entered the room now and Yuuri could hear footsteps drawing closer. “I heard your dog bark. Are you safe?”

 

And maybe he was imagining it, but Yuuri could have sworn Victor’s hand clutched his tighter at those words.

 

“Yes. She got startled by something outside so I was just calming her down. Everything’s perfectly fine.”

 

Yuuri could hear the shuffle of steps as the guard looked around, clearly wanting to ensure that he’d done his job to the fullest degree lest something terrible befall the prince.

 

“I’m sorry for the disturbance, Sire.”

 

Victor’s voice was kind, even through the muffled sound of the blankets. “There’s no need to apologize for doing your job correctly. Thank you, for worrying about me.”

 

One by one, the steps made their way back out the door and it closed and latched; but Eros still dared not move until he felt it had been long enough to ensure he wouldn’t return.

 

“Makka, come here girl,” Victor said a little louder than they’d been talking and the dog jumped into Victor’s lap and settled there.

 

Then, with that very hand that Yuuri had stupidly taken, Victor give him a gentle squeeze as if to let him know it was safe to come out.

 

Slowly, he removed the blankets, doing his best not to cause the fabric to rustle too much that it might be suspicious; and soon he found himself sitting next to Victor, who seemed to let go of his hand as reluctantly as Yuuri wanted him to.

 

“You should probably leave before anything else happens,” Victor whispered. 

 

And maybe Yuuri was projecting, but he sounded almost disappointed that they didn’t have longer together.

 

He nodded and started to get up, but Victor’s hand shot out and quickly grasped his wrist, tugging him close until his lips were but a breath away from Eros’s ear.

 

“My father has told the guards to try and arrest the people who helped take Magna Graecia tomorrow while they travel back to their cities in the west. I don’t know what time or where, but if you can help them…”

 

And much like he had that night at the ball, his actions somehow outpacing his thoughts, Eros found himself pressing a quick kiss to Victor’s cheek before he whispered back in his ear.

 

“I can now. Thanks to you.”

 

They pulled back, lingering close enough that they could feel the tickle of each other’s breath dancing across their skin, and Victor seemed to steel himself a moment before he leaned forward and returned the kiss to Eros’s cheek.

 

“Stay safe, my daring Eros.”

 

He slipped from his grasp like a slide of silk ribbon, elegantly and smoothly without but a whisper of a sound; but once he reached the window, he paused one last time to look back upon Victor, hoping his mask would hide the affection sparkling in his eyes.

 

“Take care, my dear prince. Adieu.”

 

Eros blew a kiss and much to his surprise, Victor reached up as if it were real and caught it, bringing the captured kiss down to press upon his heart. And after finding enough of his footing to make it back out of the window and halfway down the tower, the whole matter finally hit Yuuri and he almost fell; for thinking once more of Victor and his kindness and his kiss was just enough to set his heart fluttering so strongly it about knocked him off his feet.

 

* * *

 

“You’re in an awfully good mood this morning, if I may say, Sire,” Christophe remarked as he helped him slide his coat over his shoulders.

 

Victor gave a nervous little smile. “Am I? I suppose I must have had a pleasant dream that’s still lingering about my memory then.”

 

Christophe raised an eyebrow, as if he perhaps suspected something but dared not speak it aloud. As he turned from Victor to attend to the bedsheets, pulling them back to smooth them down once more, he found mixed amongst them a small leaf of rose red.

 

“Sire.”

 

“Yes?”

 

He held it up and gave him a searching look. “I don’t mean to pry, for you have already given me such trust by telling me of your night at the ball in far more detail than a man of my status warranted, but are you sure it was a dream that you remember?”

 

It was true, he had confided in Christophe about how he’d spent the evening in the company of a man of both status and heritage that his father would have absolutely hated; and even more than that, he had given him the trust of being the only soul who knew who he’d met with in the library that night.

 

Victor crossed the room, reaching out to take the leaf from Christophe’s hands as if he too wanted some physical proof that it had been more than just a fantasy; then he turned to his attendant with a hesitant smile.

 

“I worry if I say so much, I burden you with a risk that could endanger you; and Lord knows, you are the closest confidant I have Christophe.”

 

“I understand. But as my family has always served the Nikiforov family, I too am willing to face any risk for you, Sire.”

 

A gentle ease fell upon him, for he knew how Christophe’s mother was the most trusted and beloved of his mother’s friends even if she were but an attendant, and now it seemed, he was lucky enough to earn the same with her son.

 

And passing a look to him that spoke all the words he could not say, he closed his hand around the leaf that served as tangible sign that the man who’d brought it in from the night had truly been with him, pressing a kiss to it much like he had the soft cheek of the man himself.

 

“Oh Sire,” Christophe murmured, as if he could easily see now how the prince’s heart had been whisked away. 

 

Victor bowed his head at that before turning to him with a shy smile. “So, you shall help me? Even if it means we must flirt with danger itself?”

 

He laughed at that, “I’ve always believed fortune favors the flirtatious.”

 

Crossing the room until he reached the vanity, he gently settled the leaf beside his brush as if it was but a trinket from a sweetheart he was keeping to look upon and think of him once more. 

 

“Then, any news. Any rumors or whispers you hear, Christophe, please let me know of them so I may pass them to our brave friend.”

 

His eyebrows furrowed at that, as if indeed something of that sort had already passed his path that very day. 

 

“Chris?”

 

“When I was retrieving your breakfast, sire. The captain was talking with the cook and he spoke of Ofantina.”

 

“Ofantina?” Victor asked, turning now to his desk and pulling a fresh piece of parchment from it. “What of it?”

 

Christophe came up beside him, lowering his voice even more as if the walls themselves had ears. 

 

“They believe that’ll be the next city they target, so they’re preparing. Guards will be hidden in plain clothes, trying to get themselves in with them and the city shall have additional men sent down from Almavira. I saw the notes on the countertop and I can do my best to tell you what I remember.”

 

“Tell me all you saw, Chris. And if luck be on our side, I’ll find him today and warn him.”

 

And it spoke much of his attendant’s loyalty that instead of trying to talk Victor out of such madness, he merely offered up his simple black cloak to ride with; for a man wearing a cloak like those Victor owned would draw unwanted attention.

 

By the strike of the clock come midday, Victor had taken off his fancy coat and waistcoat that spoke of wealth and royalty by their make alone, and attired himself as plainly as he could; riding as he’d never ridden before on the roads to the south, knowing not where he might cross paths with the elusive man he sought. 

 

It had been at least an hour or two, perhaps more, by the time he came across a carriage alongside the road with its front wheel missing and a group of soldiers doing their best to try and repair it. 

 

“You there, what happened?” he queried, hoping they did not ask as to why a stranger spoke with such authority.

 

Luckily, the poor souls were merely glad to have someone to listen to their plight; for they quickly told him of how they’d been taking prisoners to Ofantina when they’d been attacked by bandits who made off with their prisoners as well.

 

“Those were no bandits, good soldiers,” Victor told them solemnly. “That was the Vermilion Rose. Which way did they ride?”

 

They pointed to fields where sheep idled grazing and without a word more, Victor coaxed his horse off the road and over the fence after them; riding as fast as he could manage, hoping each and every sound he heard might be the hoofbeats of those daring men. 

 

But they had seen him first and a warning shot from a crossbow caught his cloak and yanked it free from around his face; his eyes searched the direction from whence the shot came, and he pulled out his handkerchief of white and waved it high above his head to let them know that he meant them no harm.

 

The shadows of the nearby barn seemed to move with life, and before he could even blink but once, a familiar flash of red caught his eyes; a man beside him in green and gold trying to hold him back, but he only shook his head and began to walk towards Victor. He rode to meet him, quickly dismounting once he reached his side.

 

“You were lucky that was only a warning shot,” Eros murmured, reaching up as if he wanted to make sure it hadn’t even clipped him slightly, but he knew better than to act so out in the open and retracted his hand at the last moment.

 

“I’m sorry, you and your men must have been worried to see someone riding so in your wake,” Victor replied, holding out a roll of parchment towards him.

 

“What’s this?”

 

“Information that I believe might help you.”

 

Eros seemed confused, glancing down to the roll of paper then back up to Victor as if trying to understand. “You didn’t have risk so much to bring this here.”

 

He offered a smile back. “I had no way to know if you would have need of it today and the more I worried, the more I knew I must bring it to you if I could. Risk be damned.”

 

Those brown eyes, so warm and rich and expressive even with the mask of silk around them, seemed to ask so many questions with but one look; as if he was in disbelief that someone would dare risk what Victor had for someone like him. Then as if the wind itself had pushed him forward, he closed the space left between them, wrapping his arms around Victor’s neck and whispering softly in his ear.

 

“It seems I must thank you once more.”

 

As if it were as natural as breathing, Victor found his arms around him.

 

“Please be careful, my elusive Vermilion Rose.”

 

The smooth leather glove was once more against his cheek, sweeping the spill of bangs that covered his face aside, as Eros searched his eyes trying to read the truth in his words; and what he found there must have satisfied him, for he leaned in to once more to bestow a kiss upon his lips.

 

They parted breathlessly and Eros gave him a gentle smile as he pulled away.

 

“I must go, my dear prince. Please take care of yourself.”

 

Their fingertips lingered together as long as they could, drifting apart slowly as they each walked away. Then Victor stood beside his horse and waited until he saw him slip into the shadows and once more disappear as if he were indeed but a phantom made of nothing but air.

 


	7. Double Cross Stitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has given me support on this story! I'm always glad to know people are enjoying it!

The amount of warnings Yuuri had received, from the worry of his friends mostly, had grown infinitesimal since the night of the ball; for what they had laughed off at first as nerves getting the best of him was, at least in their opinion, now becoming a problem.

 

Victor had left two messages that night with the emperor: one addressed to Yuuri requesting his presence as tailor and secret sewing instruction on Sunday and one left ‘if perchance you can find a way to get to him’ for Eros. Yuuri had tried to play it cool when he informed Emperor Minami that he could definitely see about getting the letter delivered to the Vermilion Rose, but there passed an unspoken agreement then that made it clear the emperor had already attributed the acts to Yuuri and his friends and would need proof to believe anything else.

 

At least, unlike everything else, Minami seemed to be able to keep this one talent of Yuuri’s secretly rather than speaking to anyone who might listen about it.

 

But it was in that letter to Eros that the problem, as his friends saw it, clearly began; for Victor’s worry, they feared, was just a fabrication to get Yuuri’s guard down. Thankfully, the note was something he need not trouble himself with, as they did successfully avoid encountering Prince Yuri that night, but Yuuri felt the fact Victor went out of his way to advise him against any duels with his brother lest he fall into a trap was only more proof that he was trustworthy.

 

Phichit had been about livid when he found out Yuuri had snuck in the castle, reminding him that if Victor discovered who he was or if he got caught, they could all easily lose their heads. The problem, at least on Yuuri’s part, was that he couldn’t express to his friends how serious Victor’s concern and kindness for him _felt_ without making himself sound weak willed to his charms and simply blinded by his affection for the man.

 

So he’d tried, really honestly, _tried_ not to get too touchy with Victor when he appeared in the field like some black cloaked angel; but when the full impact of the utterly stupid risk he’d taken on the small chance they planned to march on Ofantina that day hit him, it was as if all sense of reason melted away. By the time they’d gotten the prisoners all safely back to their homes, any documentation about who was arrested destroyed, and safely to someplace they could talk, Phichit had a rant waiting for him.

 

It was that rant that was weighing heavily on his mind as he made his way in through the front doors of the castle as a tailor and up to Victor’s room escorted by Christophe; for Phichit had told him point blank, if he wanted to pursue something with Victor, he needed to do it as Yuuri not Eros, for everyone’s safety.

 

Victor, for his part, at least seemed pleased to see him; something Yuuri’s mind had worried he might not be, given that it was clear he was far more interested in Eros over boring old Yuuri.

 

“Yuuri! I’m so glad you could come. I wasn’t sure how busy you were, so I feared perhaps I might not get to see you for awhile.”

 

Yuuri nervously rubbed the back of his head, his eyes focusing on the pattern of the floor rug rather than risking looking into Victor’s eyes right now. “Wednesdays and Sundays are often a bit more open for me, so you lucked out I guess.”

 

Before he noticed, Victor’s hands had reached out to take his, leading him into the room to where he’d moved his small vanity stool over by the chair in front of the fireplace.

 

“I know we wanted to discuss another outfit, but I was hoping we might have some time for something simple to help me refresh my most likely incredibly rusty sewing skills, if you could even call them that.”

 

He let a little tension ease from his shoulders at that, knowing that working on something familiar like sewing would probably keep his mind from wandering where he didn’t want it to, and gave Victor a nod.

 

“We can always talk while we sew. I was thinking we might start out with something simple. Perhaps just decorating a handkerchief edge?” Yuuri said, pulling out the supplies he’d brought with him from the satchel swung over his shoulder.

 

Victor, of course, had to find that white handkerchief he’d waved across the fields at him only the day before and offer it up as the test subject; Yuuri’s mind fighting a battle with his heart over trying not to think about yesterday and Victor at all.

 

But as Yuuri walked him through basic embroidery stitches to create a small pattern of vines and simple flowers, he just couldn’t keep his mind from the matter entirely; for what Phichit didn’t understand was that there were _reasons_ Yuuri found it far easier to approach Victor when hidden behind a mask. Something about donning that costume and mindset gave him the confidence to interact with Victor like he could only dream of doing as Yuuri; for the idea of being flirtatious or overly friendly with him was easy as Eros, whereas the idea of trying anything similar as Yuuri was downright laughable.

 

Phichit, who was open and friendly with anyone he pleased, couldn’t understand how much doing something simple like speaking with a stranger preyed on Yuuri’s nerves; but somehow as Eros he could forgo that mindset, drunk on the high of adventure and free of the anxiety that plagued his mind normally.

 

As it was, all Yuuri could do now was hope that his hunch was correct about the past history of Larussia; for he’d sent Michele Crispino and his friend Emil off to the parts of the continent that were the homelands of the two previous queens in hopes they could find something that would allow them to legally remove Demyan from the throne. If they could just get the political situation settled, then Yuuri could let Victor know who Eros really was…

 

“Is everything all right? You seem rather quiet today,” Victor asked softly.

 

Yuuri tried his best to force a smile. “Sorry. I’m just a bit distracted today.”

 

Victor set down the handkerchief he was working on, and reached over, settling his hand upon Yuuri’s knee with a gentle smile.

 

“If there’s anything you wish to talk of with me, I’m more than willing to listen.”

 

It was moments like this, that Yuuri wished he could convey to his friends, for there was just such honest kindness here, much like how Victor was with Eros, that it was hard for him to think he was anything but sincere.

 

And perhaps that thought was what sparked the little flicker of bravery to life and urged the words that lingered on his mind out of his mouth.

 

“I uh… really enjoyed the ball. Thank you again for spending so much time with me.”

 

Victor blinked, a bit surprised by the topic and why it was worrying Yuuri so, and he scooted just a smidgen closer on the stool as if trying to pull them closer with a stitch.

 

“I should be thanking you, Yuuri,” Victor replied, smile curling up until it met his eyes, “You may not believe me, but I swear that was the best time I’ve ever had at one.”

 

It was Yuuri’s turn now to blink in shock, staring at Victor as if doing so might convince himself the truth behind his words; but perhaps Victor could sense the uncertainty for he continued to make his point clearer.

 

“I usually have to dance with other Amorican royal children from countries that my father wants to better trade or relations with. I’ve never had the luxury of choosing my dance partner for myself. And when I realized that your emperor had gone and invited non-Amoricans, I decided for one night I would do what I wanted rather than what my father would want of me.”

 

“Then why pick me?” Yuuri blurted out, his insecurities rearing their ugly head.

 

Victor reached out then, sweeping his hands into his own and holding them as if Yuuri truly was dear to him in some way.

 

“Because there was no one else in that room I would have rather spent my night with,” he murmured quietly, a bit shy to admit it. “Do you really not know your charms, Yuuri Katsuki?”

 

Yuuri knew his face had to burn scarlet at that and he longed for the safety of a mask to hide it behind. He darted his eyes back down as if somehow that would prevent Victor from seeing how such a remark affected him.

 

“Not only are you exceedingly talented, but you are humble and kind and brave.”

 

At the word, Yuuri felt his heart lurch in warning; a sudden pin prick of fear that perhaps he hadn’t been careful enough and Victor had figured it out after all.

 

“Brave?” he asked, so softly Yuuri thought he might not even hear it over his pounding heart.

 

“Brave,” Victor reiterated.

 

“Brave tailors are only in fairytales,” he shot back, inwardly panicking that his secret was out.

 

But Victor reached up at that, tapping him on his nose as if to make a point, as he retorted, “Then that would make you a fairytale prince, wouldn’t it?”

 

Yuuri pulled his hands free at that, trying in some vain way to hide how flustered he became. “I still don’t know what I’ve done to be considered brave. You haven’t provided any examples.”

 

And there were Victor’s hands once more, pulling Yuuri’s down from where they’d flailed up around his face, and holding this time a little firmer to help press his point through the thick fabric of denial that Yuuri had in place.

 

“Right then. The story of the brave little tailor named Yuuri,” he teased, but there was something sparkling in his eyes like sequins catching the light, that wasn’t mischief. “Are you ready to hear it?”

 

He nodded mutely, for he didn’t think he could muster up a single word without stumbling over it.

 

“Earlier this year, my father decided he needed to have _the best_ tailor in the whole world. Not just in the country, or in Amorica, but the world. And he wasn’t too happy when he found out it was this simple man from Yamato who could create beautiful art with his stitches and made the most spoken of outfits for the young emperor and his ever changing taste.”

 

Yuuri’s throat had gone dry, his heart seeming to stand still as if it too was eager to hear this tale play out.

 

“But determined to have the best, he sent for this man and because he thought himself so above him, he dared tell him that he should make the clothing _for free_ simply because if he wore it, wouldn’t it give the tailor good business?”

 

It had been in February, Yuuri remembered, for he’d had to bundle up far more than he would at home when he crossed the sea to Sigrosk for the meeting.

 

“And this tailor, who had surely heard of how ruthless and cruel this king was, said to him with a burning fire in his eyes, ‘My business is doing far better than your political relations at the moment, your highness.’”

 

Oh how Yuuri had forgotten about that day, for he’d been irritable with stress and not exactly thrilled to be called upon by a man he held such deep hatred for that he couldn’t simply turn down without a reason.

 

“Now what this brave tailor didn’t know was two princes happened to be eavesdropping that day as we are apt to do whenever someone new comes along. And so, I was there to hear him as he told my father, point blank, ‘In fact, I should actually charge you double my normal fee because working with you could bring dishonor to my name and family, but I am willing to hear you out due to courtesy.’”

 

That Yuuri did remember clearly, because he’d said it in a moment of frustration and bullheadedly stuck to it, finally convincing the man to pay him three times his usual fee for royalty by simply standing firm and throwing polite insults in that he couldn’t directly call him out on.

 

“My father, who never listens to _anyone_ and who thought you beneath him, ended up not only paying you thrice what you normally would ask but also commissioned you to make outfits for both the princes as well, also at triple the price. He was furious for _days_ after, honestly at a loss as to how one little tailor dared talk him into such a thing. And all that tailor did was stand tall and courageous in the face of a man that the majority of the world fears and refuse to let him walk all over him.”

 

“I… almost forgot about that,” Yuuri admitted sheepishly.

 

Victor pulled him up to his feet at that, his admiration palpable in the air.

 

“Even my brother, who hates ninety percent of everyone, wouldn’t talk about anything else for _weeks_ because even he knew that not just any man could stand before our father and do that. _That_ is why you are brave. _That_ is why I knew I could tell you to come up with something fitting and it would be the most impressive garment I own by far. Because there is something special about you, Yuuri, and anyone would be lucky to call themselves your friend.”

 

And perhaps filled with a little of that bravery that Victor knew flowed in his veins strong and pure, Yuuri clutched his hands back and gave him a smile.

 

“I hope you consider yourself lucky then, Victor.”

 

Which he must, for he excitedly wrapped Yuuri in a hug and held on for quite some time before they both awkwardly pulled themselves apart and went back to their sewing.

 

* * *

 

It was rare for Victor to be up so late, idling in the chair by the fireplace with a book to keep himself company as the hours swept by; but there was a strange spark of hope burning in his chest, and even if it was in vain he wished all the same that he might receive a certain nocturnal visitor once more.

 

He would really have no reason to come, for he had already thanked Victor yesterday upon the delivery of the information, but even so, Victor held out the belief that maybe he craved his company the same way Victor longed for his.

 

The hour had just struck once more, and with it Victor resigned himself that perhaps dashing phantoms had much better things to do than steal into prince’s bedrooms just for a chat; yet as he sat his book aside he paused on hearing the softest sound rustling from near his window.

 

Victor turned and found there, nestled by his draperies, a familiar shadow; he could hardly keep the smile from spilling across his face as excitement burst inside his chest and showered his heart in warmth.

 

“You’re up rather late,” Eros said softly, his voice but a whisper on the breeze. Upon his lips there quirked a pleasant smile as if he was just as happy to see Victor as Victor was to see him.

 

“I could say the same of you, but it seems you thrive in these hours,” he countered, watching as Eros smoothly crossed the room to come before him.

 

“Were you… waiting up for me?”

 

Victor could feel his face heating up at the remark and he swallowed down his nerves.

 

“Perhaps I was.”

 

“I see you’ve gotten a dressing gown in preparation.”

 

He glanced down at that, looking at the banyan in soft golds of silk satin lined with striped plain weave silk that draped around his figure; it had been his one request of Yuuri that morning and to his surprise, the tailor said he already had a few made and was able to retrieve one from his cart that seemed to fit Victor perfectly.

 

Once more, Victor had found himself wondering if it was a sign, if Yuuri and Eros might be one and the same; but as his relationship seemed to grow with each of them he worried it was only his heart that could see the similarities between the two.

 

“I decided I might need to be better attired if I was to have visitors so late,” he replied.

 

He watched as Eros stepped forward, erasing that damnable distance between them and settling his knee upon the cushion between Victor’s legs; an action that brought quite the blush to his face as Eros leaned down to whisper in his ear.

 

“I must admit, I kind of prefer the other look on you.”

 

The effect of the man so close, speaking in such a seductive tone to him, was havoc upon Victor’s sensibilities; their safety and need for secrecy suddenly overridden by thoughts rather improper and amorous.

 

He made a vain attempt to keep his head. “To what pleasure do I owe this visit?”

 

Eros’s gloved hand pressed itself over Victor’s chest, as if he was aware of how his heart was trying to beat itself from it, and gave him a gentle smile.

 

“I didn’t get to thank you properly yesterday,” he murmured, his words trailing down Victor’s jawline.

 

Victor licked his lips as Eros moved to face him, his brown eyes dancing with a fire that Victor felt burning inside his chest as well. Was it possible that he too felt this magnetic pull between them? Did he desire it the way Victor did?

 

“Ah. What did you have in mind?”

 

There was something charged and electric in the air, as if caught in a moment right before a lightning strike, and they both lingered and waited, wanting and not sure if they should once more let their hearts do the thinking for them.

 

This time, Victor moved first, reaching up to cradle his face in his hand and pulling him down into a searing kiss that they both melted into immediately and passionately; Victor’s hands quick to tangle in that sea of black curls, slick and smooth, while Eros settled into his lap with a slide of silk and velvet. Time itself seemed to stand still, both of them tangled together trying to memorize every slope and curve with searching hands as they savored the taste of the other upon their tongue; and it was not until there was a sharp knock at the door that Victor regained any sense of the world outside the man in his embrace. They parted, both of them breathless, and froze to listen for another sound.

 

“Sire? Shall I come and take care of your fire for the night?”

 

It was Christophe’s voice and Victor inwardly thanked the Lord it was him and not another, for he knew his loyal attendant would obey without a second’s pause.

 

“Not quite yet,” he managed, his voice sounding thick and rough. “Perhaps in a few more minutes?”

 

“Of course, Sire,” Christophe replied, and they could hear his footsteps retreating from the door.

 

Victor returned his attention to the man nestled in his lap, as if it was meant to hold him, whose hand was still tangled in Victor’s hair; and he leaned in until their foreheads pressed together, their eyes never once looking away from one another.

 

“We haven’t much more time,” Victor whispered, his eyes searching those of Eros’s for an answer to a question that he couldn’t bring to his tongue.

 

There was a knowing twinkle in his eyes as he responded, voice low and smooth, “Then let’s not waste a single moment of it.”

 

And there must not have been any urgent reason for his visit aside from Victor, for he returned his lips to the junction of Victor’s ear and neck and stole yet another gasp from Victor’s lips by doing so; kissing his way down his neck and sliding his gloved hand under the collar of Victor’s loose shirt. Cool against his skin, the kiss of the metal from his ring sent a thrill unlike any other down his spine.

 

So, taking heed of his request, Victor tugged that silk shirt loose from breeches sculpted to him like an art, and he splayed his hand up against Eros’s back; the feel of the oh so human skin under his fingertips an exciting reminder that somehow this man was real, so very real, and seemed to long for Victor in a way that set fire to his veins.

 

How many minutes must have passed as they lost themselves in one another, Victor could not say for certain; but they did not part again until that gentle knock sounded upon the door once more.

 

“Sire?”

 

“One more minute, Christophe. Please.”

 

There was a warmth that settled between them now, as the fire ebbed away and was replaced by something that wrapped Victor’s heart so tight he thought it might burst.

 

“Will I see you tomorrow?” he asked, not even bothering to hide the desperation in his tone.

 

Eros smiled, gentle and kind and sweet. “If my plans go well, then by midnight or so, I could come.”

 

“Ofantina?” Victor questioned, his fingers softly smoothing those unruly black curls back down, and for a moment he felt as if he’d shared this moment but earlier that day with Yuuri. Something quiet and soft and full of understanding.

 

“Yes,” Eros breathed out.

 

“Then I wish you luck, my darling Eros.”

 

He leaned in then, pressing a kiss to Victor’s lips that was slow and languid and lingering, before sitting back and giving him the most brilliant and happiest smile.

 

“Take care, my dearest prince. I’ll be thinking of you.”

 

Victor took his hand at that, and as he had always done before, pressed a kiss atop that ring with the rose seal that he’d come to love so much.

 

“And I of you. Now go and may heaven give you wings.”

 

Eros nodded, leaning in to give him one last embrace before reluctantly pulling himself away and disappearing once more from the window as if he’d never been there at all.

 

Now when the knock echoed through the room once more, Victor softly answered, “come in.”

 

Christophe had Makkachin at his heels and a knowing look dancing in his eyes as he went to the fireplace and coaxed the flames down to a smaller fire.

 

“Sire?”

 

“Yes, Chris?”

 

“Another pleasant dream, I take it?”

 

“The most pleasant dream of all.”

 

* * *

 

It had been a foolproof plan.

 

They’d spent days trying to weed out those amongst the group that could be potential spies, and Sara was certain that between her and Mila’s hunches they’d successfully sent all of them off on other requests lest they overhear what their plans really were for that day.

 

So after gathering in the ruins outside Drobeti, a group of forty or so people of all ages and types prepared itself to march for Ofantina; walking right across the fields instead of coming by one of the roads the guards might expect. Eros and his friends had already promised to try and distract as much of the guard as they could and Sara felt confident that nothing could go wrong.

 

Ah, but how wrong she was.

 

Having just captured the archbishop, Sara, Mila and a few of their most trusted friends, were exiting from the grand cathedral when they discovered that somehow they’d been betrayed; for their group of friends that were to wait outside were now captive themselves and in their place were so many guards, Sara did not think she could count them all.

 

As the fear settled in her gut, her mind whirling with questions of where it all went wrong, she felt Mila’s hand firm around her wrist.

 

“Sara. Run.”

 

“What?”

 

“Let the saints guide you,” Mila murmured, stepping in front of her protectively. “Now run.”

 

Before Sara could stop her, Mila ran towards them, her hands quick to punch or shove the guards away as best as she could, even now as they swarmed around her and closed in; but doing so created an opening, and Sara knew if she ran through it, she could surely find her way back to the catacomb entrance and safely back to home.

 

Home.

 

Ah, but there was where she hesitated, for it was not Sipious that she wanted to go home to now, but Florentina. It was there, with Mila, that she wanted to run.

 

She could see the red blur of Mila’s hair amidst the green and white of the soldier’s uniforms and knowing it was perhaps the stupidest thing she’d ever done, she ran right for them; throwing them aside with a strength she didn’t know she had in order to reach Mila’s side once more.

 

It was right as two guards seemed to have finally gotten their hands on her, that Sara made it to Mila, and she drew her fist back and propelled it forward with all the force she could muster; and for one moment, it was entirely worth the throbbing pain in her hand to see Mila’s eyes go wide with shock as the man fell to the ground.

 

“Don’t touch her!” Sara roared, doing her best to shake off the guards that had come forward to try and restrain her.

 

But the more she and Mila tried to fight them off, the more they were simply overpowered and outnumbered, both of them soon brought to their knees as shackles were locked over their wrists.

 

“Get the prince, let him know we’ve got their leader!” one of the guards called out.

 

As they waited there, trying to catch their breaths and hoping that this was all but a terrible dream, Sara felt Mila bump her shoulder over against hers. She turned to her with a question in her gaze.

 

“You should have left me,” Mila murmured, too quiet for any of the guards to hear over the sounds of struggle and fighting around them. “You are too important to be captured, Sara. If I can make a distraction, you make a run for it, okay?”

 

But Sara had made her decision and she was not about to let anyone, even Mila, talk her out of it.

 

“I go with you,” she asserted. “Whether it’s to the hangman’s noose or home to Florentina, I won’t go anywhere without you.”

 

“Sara. But-”

 

“You’re important too, Mila. To me. So if we’re running, you’re coming with me.”

 

Eyes of sapphire blue went wide, as the words settled in her mind, and Mila’s shock only found itself outweighed by how touched she was.

 

“Okay. Then let’s at least try for it. We can’t let them take us this easily.”

 

Sara nodded and they eyed their guards a moment before both of them tackled into them, making a run into the crowd; and they’d made it almost out of the main city courtyard and to the alley where they knew escape was hidden just around the bend, when a gunshot rang out and just missed Mila’s head. Strands of red hair fluttered in the breeze, and Sara turned with fire in her blood, about to face down whoever dared come after them.

 

But that was when she found herself face to face with the Larussian prince, his eyes of green piercing and deadly.

 

“If you try to run again, I won’t miss the second time,” he said as the soldiers quickly filled in behind him; every single rifle now pointed in their direction. “My father doesn’t care if you’re alive or not, after all.”

 

Sara froze. Before, before she could have fought back, risked her own life so carelessly in pursuit of her dream; but now… the idea that this boy or any of his men could take Mila from her was like ice in her veins.

 

“Good girl.”

 

And it took all her strength not to spit in his hateful face as the soldiers stepped forward to take hold of her and Mila once more; the two of them shoved and pushed along until they were forced into a carriage along with a guard that was ordered to shoot to kill if either of them tried to escape.

 

Bitter tears pricked at her eyes and she held them back with only her determination not to cry before these Larussian men; but Mila must have noticed, for she leaned over against her and her head rested on Sara’s shoulder.

 

It was strange not to feel the long hair against her skin, instead a choppy piece where the gunshot had cut it short hung there, and reminded Sara that they had been lucky to have made it this far alive.

 

“Sara.”

 

“Hmm?”

 

Mila turned a bit then, muffling her voice in Sara’s hair. “Thank you. For standing by me.”

 

Sara leaned her head down then, resting it against Mila’s, and let out a heavy sigh. “I told you. Wherever you go, I go too.”

 

She smiled and Sara could feel the curl of her lips against her skin.

 

“I want to go home.”

 

And she could hear the warmth, the rise and fall of her tone as she spoke of it; as if suddenly the word home had taken on an entirely new meaning to her simply because Sara had called it so herself.

 

“We will,” Sara replied; a wish and a promise wrapped into her words. “Somehow, we’ll find our way there together.”

 

* * *

 

It had been a trap.

 

All their information about how many guards were in Ofantina and where they were located? Completely wrong. In fact, when they rode into the part of town that was supposed to be free of all guards, they’d found themselves surrounded as at least a soldier or two came out of every surrounding house with their rifles drawn and ready.

 

Phichit was struggling to keep Yuuri focused, and Leo knew why; it had been Victor’s information that had led them astray and by the looks of it, led them right into capture at the hands of more soldiers than they could overpower with only four men.

 

As the four of them stood, back to back, surrounded on all sides, Guang Hong spoke up. “Eros, Philia. I’ll make a distraction and you two get the hell out of here.”

 

“I’m not running,” Eros spat back, his voice a mixture of anger and hurt, “this is all my fault so if anyone is going to sacrifice themselves...”

 

“No one is sacrificing themselves,” Philia cut in, trying to maintain the calm. “But if some of us are captured and some of us aren’t, that’s going to bode best for everyone rather than all of us being captured.”

 

“You’re better with the breaking in plans, Eros,” Ludus assured him. “We’re trying to get you free so you can help us better.”

 

“What if they don’t wait until tomorrow?” he asked, his voice breaking on the last word. “What if it’s too late?”

 

Guang Hong held himself up, as tall as he could, and nudged his arm back against their leader. “You know that cocky bastard of a king won’t waste the chance to try and lure you in with a public execution. I trust you to save me.”

 

Ludus could see, out of his peripheral vision, the mixture of emotions that welled in Yuuri’s eyes, and knew exactly what he was thinking.

 

“Eros. We _still_ trust you,” he assured him. “This isn’t your fault.”

 

He started to reply, probably to once more assert that none of this would have happened if he’d not listened to Victor, when a loud gunshot rang out. Leo turned back only to realize with a surge of panic, that it had been aimed directly at him.

 

He fumbled with his crossbow, knowing if he dodged it would only hit Yuuri instead, and thinking if he was lucky… really _damn_ lucky, he might be able to divert its direction with a shot of his own.

 

But before he could bring his bow level and aim, Guang Hong jumped across him, firing a gunshot of his own. It skimmed the edge of the bullet just barely, only enough to turn the shot off by a couple of inches, and hit with a forceful impact that splattered blood up across Leo’s face.

 

Guang Hong’s blood.

 

He dropped his crossbow and was on the ground beside him within seconds.

 

“No... no... Guang Hong…”

 

He reached up at that, pressing a finger covered with dirt and blood over Leo’s lips.

 

“Shh. They’re coming. Please. Run.”

 

Leo looked up to Phichit and Yuuri, and he immediately knew that Phichit was going to take charge from the firm set of his brow and the horror in Yuuri’s eyes. It was now up to Leo to decide if he went with them or stayed with Guang Hong.

 

Well, that really wasn’t a decision.

 

“Go,” he yelled to them. “Now!”

 

And Phichit didn’t waste a moment in using the distraction of the soldiers with their injured prey to grab Yuuri and rush, blades clashing with bayonets and gunshots just missing them, to safety.

 

Leo only barely registered the yelling voices crying out that the two had disappeared, his focus so intent on Guang Hong that everything around them seemed worlds away; and he sat with him cradled in his lap, his blood staining his pants, praying to every god he could think of, that somehow Guang Hong would be all right.

 

It wasn’t until a bayonet was shoved under his chin and forced it up that he looked away.

 

“Well well, at least we got two of them.”

 

It was the younger prince and he looked so smug that Leo wanted to punch it off his face.

 

The soldiers were upon them then, and Leo struggled against them in vain to keep his arms around Guang Hong even one moment longer. Finally, forced to their feet before the boy prince, Guang Hong spoke up.

 

“Kill us if you want, but you’ll never get all of us.”

 

The prince raised an eyebrow at that, and Leo realized with a sickening feeling that he had planned on having them shot right then and there.

 

Guang Hong pressed on, not seeming to pay any mind to the blood that was still spilling down his chest. “You unmask us now, or kill us, and what? Daddy will just think you found two random peasants and forced them into similar clothing. You won’t have a damn bit of proof without us alive.”

 

His eyes flickered on realizing he was right, the prince turning then to the captain beside him. “Take them to Murgia. We’ll hang them in the morning. And if we’re lucky, their little friends will show up and join them.”

 

“Yes, your highness.”

 

The prince glared at them once more, haughty and self-righteous. “Now be a good little boy and don’t die overnight, that would spoil everything, wouldn’t it?”

 

And not sure where the strength came from, or how he managed it, Leo yanked himself free from the two strong guards who held him back and threw a punch that landed square on the prince’s jaw and sent him reeling.

 

He was immediately tackled to the ground, but he was glad to see that he looked far less smug now when he glowered down at them and that there was a visible bruise blooming on his cheek.

 

“Put them in the carriage with the other two. And take every soldier you can get to guard it. If any of these four escape, I will have your head for your failure.”

 

Everything became a blur after that, his worry overriding any sense of being, and the only thing he registered was more sadness when he realized who the other two they captured were; for they shared a look of such sorrow that it was as if the fight had been drained out of all four of them.

 

And the only relief that arriving in Murgia brought them was that Leo knew if Guang Hong had stayed conscious this long, it was either due to it looking worse than it was or out of pure spite; and he was thankful to find them ushered into the same cell adjacent to the one Sara and Mila were put into, a guard stationed outside each cell door.

 

Red and orange light from the sun drifting below the horizon flickered through the bars of the window and across the floor, and Leo tried his best to use the dimming light to do what he could for Guang Hong before darkness fell upon them.

 

The shot had, thankfully, been diverted enough that it missed the deadly mark it had made on Leo’s heart, instead finding itself embedded in between Guang Hong’s neck and shoulder; and the guards, ever hopeful that they might make an escape attempt that would cause the other two to fall into their hands, had at least granted them use of their hands by shackling them in the front rather than the back. Leo had wasted not a moment in ripping Guang Hong’s sleeve free to use the fabric to staunch the flow of blood from the wound.

 

Heavy lidded and clearly weary, Guang Hong reached up to sweep the hair out of Leo’s face as he leaned over him.

 

“Hey, I’m going to be fine, I promise.”

 

Leo shook his head, his voice thick with worry, as he knelt beside where he laid on the hay they had in lieu of any sort of bed. “How do you know? You were _shot_ and it’s all my fault.”

 

Guang Hong frowned at that and started to try and sit up, but Leo stopped him.

 

“It’s not your fault. Or anyone else’s. I saw that pistol shot aimed and I made the choice to put myself between it and you.”

 

Leo frowned, his mind awash with regrets and doubts. They’d barely talked since the night of the ball, Leo finding himself too afraid to broach the topic with Guang Hong and Guang Hong not bringing it up either. It had resulted in Leo concluding that it was just part of their disguise, nothing more, nothing less. Even if it meant something else to him, that wasn’t intended.

 

“If that had been a rifle shot, you might be dead now,” he muttered. “The prince… he was going to shoot us, right there. If you hadn’t said something… we’d be…”

 

Once more, Guang Hong tried to sit up and Leo pushed him back down; this time leaning down and looping his chained hands around Guang Hong’s neck, pressing himself close as he whispered in his ear.

 

“I was so scared I was going to lose you. I still am.”

 

“Leo…” he murmured back, so soft he almost didn’t hear it.

 

“And we’ve hardly talked in the last few days, because I’m being stupid and you still did this, for me. I don’t deserve you.”

 

“Don’t talk like that,” he protested, feebly shoving at Leo. “I’m the one who’s been avoiding you for no good reason.”

 

Leo pulled back at that, using his hands to support his weight so he could lean over Guang Hong, and blinked in confusion.

 

“I thought…” he turned his face away, as if the growing shadows of the cell might hide his embarrassment. “I thought you were mad at me.”

 

“Why would I be mad at you?”

 

Leo’s cheeks burned. Did it really mean that little to him?

 

He felt a shaky hand against his cheek and turned back to find Guang Hong giving him such a gentle look, he thought his overtaxed heart might burst from the strain.

 

“Because I…” Leo closed his eyes, afraid to see him react to his confession, “because I kissed back when you were just doing it to distract the prince.”

 

Guang Hong’s hand withdrew at that and Leo felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach, a hollow sadness he’d been holding back breaking through the dam of his emotions and flooding him with it. He heard the jingle of the chains and knew Guang Hong was surely about to push him away.

 

Instead, he felt the cool metal links drape around his neck, followed by Guang Hong’s hands pressing against the back of his head, cradling it; the surprise of the action enough to force his eyes open as he stared down at him in confusion.

 

“Then I _didn’t_ imagine it,” Guang Hong breathed out, as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his chest; nervous laughter huffed out in the breath right after. “Gods, we’re both such idiots.”

 

He pulled himself up at that, clinging to Leo’s neck with his strength, and held him tight; and Leo, stung by the sudden turn of the situation could only stare a few moments before he returned the embrace, both of them tumbling back against the hay. It’s only at the hiss of pain from Guang Hong that Leo sat back.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

But he was smiling, a little lopsidedly, and his eyes were shining warm and bright through his pink silk mask even in the darkness that had come with the sunset.

 

“Kiss it better?” he asked, a little hopefully, a little teasing.

 

And it didn’t matter that they were in a jail cell in Murgia, it didn’t matter that everything possible had gone wrong that day, because the rush of happiness filled Leo with such hope and optimism that he had a feeling they’d look back on this some day and laugh.

 

Then, with a surge of bravery unlike any other, Leo rolled them over so Guang Hong was resting atop him, and he pulled him down into a kiss just as soft and sweet as the one he was bestowing it upon.

 

* * *

 

Had it not been for Leo, Guang Hong wasn’t sure he could have slept at all.

 

His shoulder still burned, with a sharp ache that pinched if he moved the wrong way and as if to make him even more delirious, Leo’s worry had brought the matter of the ball back up and it had actually sorted itself rather well. If it wasn’t for the pain, Guang Hong would have thought himself dreaming.

 

Instead, he wearily let himself melt into Leo’s embrace, and before he knew it the steady beat of Leo’s heart had lulled him into a gentle sleep. He only woke, sometime before dawn, when he started to slide off towards his left and his instinct to reach out with his hand to prevent it was doubly thwarted by both his chained hands and the pain in his shoulder.

 

So he laid there, watching Leo sleep, and feeling like if all it took to be this happy was getting shot, it wasn’t so bad a trade off. The moonlight was all that they had for lighting, the torches out in the hallway barely making it in through the small barred window on the door; but it was all he needed, given that Leo was so close to him.

 

How long he lingered there, drinking in the sight of him, he couldn’t have calculated; for the hours seemed but a blur with his mind as distracted as it was. But he knew it must be close to dawn, but not quite it, when he heard the call of a bird sound out three times.

 

Not just any bird either, a type of owl that he knew was native to Yamato.

 

“Leo. Leo wake up,” he whispered, gently trying to nudge him awake.

 

Blearily, he opened his eyes and surprise seemed to hit him before he remembered where he was and how he’d ended up there.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Listen.”

 

They lay there, silent outside of their beating hearts, and the call came one more time.

 

“It’s them,” he whispered, trying to push himself upright; but he forgot his shoulder once more and winced in pain, yanking his arm up and free.

 

They both stared, realizing after a few moments that Leo’s head had held the shackle down while Guang Hong had been able to slip his wrist through in his urgency to alleviate his pain.

 

He smiled down at Leo, and on realizing he could do so, leaned down to peck a kiss to his lips.

 

“I have an idea.”

 

Leo helped him to his feet, supporting his left side so he didn’t inadvertently strain himself further, and they looked to the door; both keeping as still as possible lest they draw unwanted attention.

 

“What’s your idea?” Leo whispered back.

 

Guang Hong held up his right wrist. “They accidentally left me with a meteor hammer. That’s my idea.”

 

Leo stared, having seen Guang Hong make such a weapon from nothing more than a length of rope and a garden tool, and slowly a smile came to his lips; for with one shackle still attached and a length of chain between it and the other closed shackle, it would indeed serve just that purpose.

 

“Eros could probably use as much help as we can give him right now,” he continued, his eyes looking somberly towards the window. He could hardly imagine what Yuuri must be going through, and when he thought of him and Victor, a plan began to form in his mind.

 

“They probably won’t try to break in, this prison is too well guarded,” Guang Hong whispered. “That was the signal to let us know they’re here to help us escape when they escort us in the carriage to Sigrosk.”

 

“So you want to start a fight in the carriage?” Leo asked, but he looked somewhat impressed.

 

Guang Hong nodded. “I still haven’t got to punch that asshole and gods know I really want to.”

 

And Leo had to stifle a laugh at that, for his face lit up with such warmth and joy before he leaned down to nuzzle his nose against Guang Hong’s. “I think if anyone has earned it, it’s definitely you.”

 

“Also,” and he dropped his voice even lower at this, “I want to see if I can get him to confirm if Victor was the one that gave us away. It’s not much but…”

 

“It would sure make Yuuri feel better.”

 

He nodded.

 

So quietly, they talked; at first of what they were going to do once they came to take them and then what they planned to do later; for Guang Hong had come up with a daring plan to not only escape that day but also to take Ofantina while everyone’s anger at the Larussians was at its peak.

 

By the time the guards came to collect them, they’d reluctantly untangled themselves and acted as somber and forlorn as they could muster with their own hearts so happy and full.

 

As Guang Hong had predicted, they were deposited into a carriage along with Sara and Mila, the captain of the guard, and the youngest Larussian prince; and pretending it was nothing more than Leo holding Guang Hong’s hand tight, they began their ploy as the carriage started to move.

 

“I see you survived the night,” the prince sneered at them, his smugness at its peak. “Thankfully a noose is a little more permanent than a gunshot wound.”

 

Guang Hong, hoping he’d try and bait them with something like this, rose to the occasion; leaning forward (and discreetly pulling his hand free from the shackle Leo held) and spitting right in his face.

 

“Fuck you. You and your brother!”

 

He was livid, grabbing the pistol from the captain’s hands and aiming it straight for Guang Hong’s chest. “My brother had nothing to do with this, you foreign scum. This was all my planning, got that? I don’t care if it’s the last damn thing you hear, you will know that I did this alone!”

 

As his finger went for the trigger, Guang Hong moved, swinging the shackle up in an arc above his head and bringing it down to smash the gun right from the prince’s hands; and in their shock at one of their prisoners somehow breaking free, they didn’t scramble fast enough after it and Guang Hong easily recovered the pistol, which he leveled now at the prince’s head.

 

“Don’t move because unlike you and your men, I never miss.”

 

The boy at least had the dignity to look momentarily afraid and Guang Hong quickly shifted, dropping his aim to the lower corner of the carriage and firing a shot through the seats; which, being as his aim was true, hit the axle of the front wheel and knocked it askew, the carriage lurching to the right as the wheel buckled under.

 

The horses were called to a halt and the carriage slammed forward to the ground.

 

“Ludus, the door,” Guang Hong yelled out, and as Leo pulled the two surprised ladies from the carriage, he paused one moment, towering over the young prince with a gaze piercing and threatening.

 

“If you dare aim a gun at him again, I won’t let you see another day. Understood?”

 

And as if to make sure his point was clear, he flipped the flintlock pistol in his hand now and smashed the butt of it against the prince’s face.

 

He climbed out of the carriage to find that, much like he’d expected, Phichit and Yuuri had hidden themselves amongst the bevy of soldiers guarding the carriage and were slowly picking the remainder of the soldiers off one by one with either their swords, or Mila’s fists. It wasn’t long before Guang Hong had picked up a rifle and another pistol from an unconscious soldier and turned to his friends with a grin.

 

“Before you insist I see a doctor, we’re taking Ofantina just to piss these bastards off more.”

 

Phichit whistled. “Damn, they really ticked you off didn’t they?”

 

Guang Hong shrugged, wincing as the pain in his shoulder reminded him of its presence. They’d tried to shoot Leo, they’d broken Yuuri’s heart, and they’d injured him. Yeah, he was a bit pissed off.

 

But knowing that blazing determination for what it was, Phichit deferred to Guang Hong and it wasn’t long before they were riding for Ofantina ready to set everything right once more.

 

At the sight of them riding through the villages on the western side of Apulia, people began to follow them and soon they’d gathered that group forty strong once more as they rode for Ofantina; a city now blissfully unaware and unprepared for the strike they were bringing down upon it.

 

By the time midday struck, Guang Hong was being tended to by the town’s best and most respected midwife while the sounds of revelry and celebrations echoed outside in the city’s center; and stitched up and told he was lucky it had missed anything important, Guang Hong rejoined his friends with a cup of willow bark tea as they stood watching the people rejoicing in their freedom.

 

“How you feeling, Agape?” Yuuri asked, that guilt still lingering in his eyes.

 

“Better. Now it’s my turn to try and cheer you up.”

 

Yuuri blinked, clearly uncertain what he could mean by that.

 

“Ludus can attest to it, so can Storge and Pragma; according to the young prince, the elder prince had absolutely nothing to do with what happened.”

 

Leo nodded. “He was very firm about that fact, so I don’t think you need to blame yourself for this anymore.”

 

He turned then to Phichit, for clearly they’d had words overnight about the matter, and gave him a hesitant smile. “It’s still probably best if I don’t go out of my way to see him, for all our sakes.”

 

Phichit sighed. “I’m not saying you have to stop completely. You know that. But… Eros at least needs to stay safely away. I’m sorry.”

 

But Guang Hong could see the relief mixed amongst the somber resignation in Yuuri’s eyes and before he knew it, their brave leader had walked over to give him a gentle hug.

 

“Thank you, Agape, for being a leader and coming up with all this when I couldn’t.”

 

Guang Hong gave him a smile, hoping perhaps he could impart hope and sunshine as easily as Leo could if he tried with all his heart.

 

“I trust you and I trust your judgement,” he stated, knowing Phichit strongly disagreed with the matter. But Guang Hong knew that Yuuri’s unwavering trust and belief wouldn’t dare lead them astray, even if his heart was involved, “so I’m sure everything will work out between you two, Eros. Just give it time.”

 

Yuuri offered a small smile in return. “I hope you’re right, Agape. I truly do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Curious about the different types of silks and velvets in this story? I made a post talking about all of them with pictures here: https://elusive-vermilion-rose.tumblr.com/post/179443889843/the-great-silk-and-velvet-reference-post
> 
> Also, I may have sketched a Guang Hong from the last scene because I love him and his soft-but-badass duality so so much. http://abarero.tumblr.com/post/179458746720/ludus-the-door-guang-hong-yelled-out-and-as


	8. Needle in a Haystack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features another utterly stunning piece of art from smolkristen that is embedded in the fic. Please check out the link at the end of the chapter and reblog it on tumblr because it's SO PRETTY I cannot even word.

It had been, quite possibly, the longest five days of Victor’s life. In fact, the only reason Victor knew it was Sunday, was because he’d once again received word that like the Wednesday before it, Yuuri could not visit him. It had now been a whole week since he’d seen Yuuri and as for Eros...

 

Everything with Eros had been ruined the moment his brother set plans for Ofantina on Monday.

 

When he’d heard what happened Monday night, he could hardly sleep, knowing his daring Eros was surely working late to try and help those that had been captured; but when Tuesday morning came, and Yuri returned to the castle bruised and furious, it had only confirmed Victor’s worst fears. To hear his brother ranting about how he “should have killed him when I had the chance” made Victor’s blood run cold; for the boy used to have the same kindness his mother did, but as the years went by it seemed his father stole more and more of it away, leaving him angry and cold with no real concept of the bigger world around him. And now, Yuri’s coldhearted plans had surely convinced Eros that Victor too could not be trusted.

 

It’s not like he could apologize for it. An excuse of ‘I didn’t know my brother changed everything at the last minute’ didn’t carry much weight when it resulted in one of the Vermilion Rose getting shot. Eros had every right to avoid him and blame him, Victor felt, as much as it made his heart ache to consider it.

 

And it’s not like the resulting fallout from the matter would make it easy for him to visit either; given that his father was now offering a hundred rubles for his capture dead or alive. Desperate people in need of even a single ruble had been lining up for days to report supposed sightings and men they swore had to be the culprits in hopes to earn that hefty sum.

 

Victor was honestly quite surprised to hear what good news he did from Christophe; reports of the western towns now guarding themselves against the Larussian soldiers with barricades made of old plows and carts and things. All the trade that went through the port at Magna Graecia was having to be rerouted to Coppa Nevigata, but some of the foreign traders were siding with the Apulian people and refused to bring their goods further east. And with Ofantina holding out for days despite every attempt to reclaim it? Now all the imported goods coming into the port had to travel east quite some miles before they could safely come north without encountering the rebel barricades.

 

His father, so focused on his hunt for those four men and the Crispino twins, didn’t seem to realize that over half of the southern cities were no longer his to control; and Victor was certainly not about to be the one to point it out. To his father, if those troublemakers were captured, the whole thing would be resolved; for as always he saw the value of a leader but not the people behind them.

 

And it was those people, by the sound of it not even with the urging of any of those his father sought, who rose up that very day and tried to take Pisae for their own. They’d failed, a handful of the known instigators being held now in the prison, but from all Victor could gather about the matter, there was no Crispino or Vermilion Rose that had been present among them.

 

Did they even know of Pisae’s plight? Or were they, as the captain of the guard and his brother assumed, too busy making plans to take Coppa Nevigata next?

 

His father, as if it was but a comment on the weather, mentioned over lunch that he was going to have the five who started it hung tomorrow at sunset; to set an example, he asserted when Victor asked why so soon, and there was little more Victor could do or say without betraying his own feelings on the matter.

 

But he no longer had a way to tell Eros and so, not knowing what else to do, Victor decided it was time he took the matter into his own hands.

 

If Yuuri could be brave, if Eros could be brave, then by God Victor would find a way to gather his courage and do the same.

 

There were too many watching eyes at the castle, but Victor knew if he left the castle as he was, he’d be just as watched; for there were not many who lived far south on the continent with skin as pale or hair as fair as his and he was sure to draw some attention. Christophe had, when presented with Victor’s lament, suggested he find a way to create a mask without wearing one and Victor knew no better person to ask about that than Georgi Popovich, the royal playwright.

 

So he had snuck out as soon as possible along with Christophe and they’d traveled by foot through the winding streets and squares of Sigrosk until they reached the theatre; the grand facade holding within two spacious galleries and four storeys of boxes, those Victor were most familiar with being the sumptuously decorated boxes for those of royal and affluent birth. But they had instead come to the backdoor, hidden in a small alleyway, and knocked quietly until a dark haired man answered.

 

“Well, I see you weren’t lying about your liege,” the man remarked, looking from Christophe to Victor with shock.

 

Victor inclined his head. “I apologize for the brief notice, Mr. Popovich, but I have urgent matters that I feel only you might assist me in.”

 

He opened the door wide and beckoned them in. “Then let us not waste a moment more.”

 

They filed in behind him, past the wings of the stage to a small room to its left; and therein, surrounded by costumes and wigs hung round the walls, the playwright indicated the small bench and Victor sat hoping his expression didn’t betray the nervousness he felt.

 

“Pray tell, what can I do for you, your highness?”

 

Victor looked to Christophe for reassurance and at his encouraging nod, took a steadying breath.

 

“I have need to travel without anyone knowing my true identity. I thought perhaps, with your skill, you could find me a way.”

 

Georgi tapped his chin thoughtfully as he paced forward a few steps then back. “Is there a certain role you will be playing? In situations like this, it is vital to know what you want to portray.”

 

Victor let out a hesitant laugh. “I suppose a black wig and some different clothing would not be enough?”

 

He snorted at that. “With your complexion? Lord no. You’d need hours of makeup to pull off black.”

 

Victor felt a smile tug at his lips then, Yuuri’s words about the color on him coming back to his memories fondly.

 

“But before I decide what you do need, I must know what type of person you wish to be.”

 

That Victor hadn’t thought much about, but at the expectant look of both Christophe and Georgi, he found his words stumbling forth without thought behind them.

 

“Someone daring and brave, with an air of mystery about them but not so much that people pry into their identity,” he began, slowly painting out the image in his mind.

 

“Male or female?” Georgi questioned, his hands having gone to sort through the nearest rack of costumes. “Or… is that part of the mystery too?”

 

At the idea, Victor found himself sitting up as if eager to hear more. “Do you have something in mind?”

 

Georgi nodded, “Perhaps. Tell me how this fits your image. I’m seeing a rider; hair flowing and wavy held back only by a loose ribbon, dancing upon the breeze as they travel; breeches and boots of fine yet not the finest make. This rider wears a stay of deep scarlet, loosely tied with a flowing white shirt trimmed with lace at the throat and cuffs, and a bergère hat with a large plume, and of course leather gloves of tan to complete the look.”

 

Victor tried his best to picture it and all he could do was find himself caught upon the little details that reminded him of Eros; the scarlet red, the gloves, the look of an elegant rider.

 

“It sounds… perfect,” he managed.

 

Georgi smiled, beginning now to pull pieces from the wardrobe that fit his description and hand them over to Victor, and before he knew it, he’d been ushered behind the changing screen to try the pieces on.

 

When he emerged, Georgi looked thoughtful before reaching for a few more small accessories.

 

“A turquoise ribbon around here, to give you more of an hourglass figure and accentuate the bust, will help distract from your gender,” he remarked, handing it over. “And I’d apply some makeup as well, I’ll show you how to shade it properly to hide your distinguishing features.”

 

By the time Victor stepped before the mirror, every piece from boots to wig to hat to makeup in place, he blinked in shock at how little he looked like the prince that all of Larussia knew. The only thing that he was afraid of was the hair… still in that silver white that so few had.

 

“Are you sure a wig matching my own hair color is best?” he asked, nervously toying with the long strands that cascaded over his shoulder.

 

Georgi nodded firmly. “Unless you want to change the color of your eyebrows, you’ve got to match or it’ll give you away. And your complexion is too light for much else.”

 

Christophe placed a reassuring hand on Victor’s shoulder. “Surely you remember a bit of the accent from far north? That could be a part of this as well.”

 

He hadn’t thought of that, and for a moment he wondered if Eros used a tone different from his normal voice…

 

“All you need now is a name,” Georgi noted, his arms crossed, “but I’m finding that more difficult than the rest.”

 

“Psyche,” Victor said, as if he had known it to be the answer all along.

 

“Psyche?” Georgi asked.

 

“From the ancient Apulian story. The one who had to face many trials before she could win back her love.”

 

There passed an unspoken understanding there, wherein Christophe surely knew the reasons yet was kind enough not to state them aloud; and Georgi seemed to think it over a moment before replying.

 

“Then whenever you don this costume, you will too don that name and identity. I wish you luck in your quest, whatever it might be, Psyche.”

 

* * *

 

It was about mid-morning when Yuuri arrived in Pisae, and he wasn’t that surprised to find that the road into the town was under guard; but being as he was dressed rather plainly and had with him a cart full of fabrics and clothing along with a royal charter professing his trade he easily passed through without drawing any suspicion.

 

He had until sunset to figure out how to get those five held in the prison to freedom without drawing the attention of the increased amount of soldiers milling about the town; and at his insistence, Phichit had stayed behind on their ship in Santa Lucia to make sure Guang Hong didn’t get up to anything too strenuous since he knew Leo would cave at the first little pout.

 

So he’d told his friends he was merely going to try and scope things out; planning to be back in touch with them once he’d devised a plan. Although, if he was perfectly honest, he was frazzled enough that he’d probably just handle it by himself, as dangerous as that might be.

 

Phichit had told him it was perfectly fine for Yuuri to call upon Victor, being as he was his tailor. Nonetheless, he found the last expected days he couldn’t bring himself to do so; for even the thought of Victor made something tense in his heart as if in pain. Guang Hong and Leo had tried their best to assure him that Prince Yuri said Victor wasn’t involved, but it had caused every single worry that Yuuri had been ignoring to surface at once; a veritable tangled mess of emotion that was so badly knotted that he might as well cut it all off and be done with it.

 

Of course it had been too good to last, he should have known.

 

Yuuri stared down at the pale ale in his mug, throwing it back quickly before calling the tavern master back over to where he sat at the bar.

 

“Do you have anything stronger?” he asked as the man approached.

 

He let out a chuckle at that. “I got a march and amber beer from Ivera. And a porter from Florentina.”

 

Yuuri’s lips quirked up at that, knowing Mila’s porter would definitely settle his nerves. “The porter then. Thank you.”

 

It wasn’t long before the man returned with the mug, the deep mahogany liquid swirling about enticingly inside; and having not had much luck in the few hours he’d been in town, Yuuri made quick work of the drink and felt the malty sweetness settle inside him, pushing his worries away.

 

He needed to stop thinking about Victor and get back to work, that’s all there was to it.

 

But as he settled into his second round of drink, he heard footsteps crossing the wooden floor that came to a stop beside him and a pleasant and warm voice followed.

 

“Excuse me, sir. Is that your cart outside?”

 

Yuuri turned at that, blinking as if he’d seen a mirage when he took in the person standing beside him; silver white hair that rippled down their back, a laced collar that scooped low and let an expanse of skin teasingly show from between the laces of their stays, and blue eyes that seemed oh so very familiar.

 

“W-What?”

 

They smiled and slid onto the barstool next to him and Yuuri had to drag his eyes up from the shapely way the boots and breeches clung to their body; a strange feeling bubbling up inside his chest.

 

“I asked if that cart of fabrics is yours.”

 

Victor didn’t stress his r’s that hard, but the likeness was uncanny and Yuuri couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew them, whoever they were, quite well already.

 

“Uh yes?”

 

A gloved hand came to rest over his on the bar top, a sweet smile plastered on their face as they leaned closer.

 

“Sorry to assume, but you’re the best dressed person in here so I figured you must be the tailor.”

 

Yuuri didn’t think much of his simple ensemble of muted blues and not a stitch of embroidery, but it was true it was definitely better fitted and made than anyone in town’s save perhaps the soldiers.

 

“Can I help you?” Yuuri asked, hoping they might reveal something that would spark his memory about who they were.

 

But he would have remembered if someone had that shade of hair and the only people he could ever recall seeing with it had been Victor and his mother.

 

They scooted a bit closer, the drag of the stool against the worn flooring loud but still not enough to interrupt the din of noise around them.

 

“I hope so, at least,” they said, now beginning to whisper. “I fear I’m running out of other options and time is of the essence.”

 

Intrigued and finding their gaze as magnetic a pull as Victor’s, Yuuri leaned closer as well.

 

“And you are?”

 

Demurely, those blue eyes dipped down before they fluttered back up to him with a shy little smile on their rouge lips.

 

“Ah, you can call me… Psyche.”

 

It was as if a cannonball had been shot into his gut at the name, for who else knew about Eros? The soldiers perhaps, after that first time in Murgia; and certainly a fair amount of the Apulian people who’d heard it exchanged amongst the four men who’d come to their aid. Yuuri took a breath and tried to keep himself calm.

 

“Psyche… as in the wife of Eros from the old stories?”

 

A pretty blush bloomed upon their cheeks at that and they nodded, seeming almost daintier now than before.

 

Yuuri swallowed down his racing thoughts; and whether he was blinded by hope or not, he decided he’d trust them.

 

“And what do you need help with?”

 

They tilted their head over against Yuuri’s shoulder at that, their ridiculously large hat shadowing them from prying eyes as they whispered in his ear.

 

“There are five prisoners set to be killed at sunset. I need a way to get them out of the city before then and every road is being watched.”

 

Yuuri’s eyes shot wide. Whoever this was, be it Victor or not, was trying to achieve the same goal as the Vermilion Rose. Immediately, his heart felt a surge of warmth but his mind was quick to remind him this could easily be trap as well.

 

“You want me to break the law?” he asked, slowly. “What proof do I have that you won’t leave me to the guards when they come after us?”

 

The thought clearly hadn’t occurred to them, for they pulled back and nervously toyed with their hair a few moments as if unsure how to proceed now; and it was that honest and flustered countenance that assured Yuuri they couldn’t be lying lest they were the best damn actor in the country.

 

“How about this, you stay with me until sundown when I’ll be boarding my ship for Yamato. That way, at least, I am assured you and I will be facing any consequences together.”

 

The suggestion seemed to startle them, those blue eyes blinking wide and pulling Yuuri’s heartstrings with them, and another blush crept back onto their cheeks.

 

“It sounds like a date,” they murmured, flickering their eyes up to watch Yuuri’s reaction.

 

Yuuri knew it did, as his mind had already made the connection. A fake date with a fake Victor, gods he was pathetic.

 

“If you would rather some other way…”

 

But a strong thread of conviction pulled them upright, their hand clutching Yuuri’s now beseechingly. “Oh no, it’s just I wasn’t expecting such a thing. But if that’s all you need in repayment for your help, then I’m glad to offer it.”

 

Yuuri found himself smiling despite all his internal misgivings. If this was what it took to get those five people to safety, then he too would be glad to do such a thing.

 

“Perhaps I can get to know why such a beautiful person finds it in their heart to risk countless dangers for the good of others,” he replied, the threads of adventure tugging now strong enough that his innate courage was drawn too up to the surface.

 

Psyche tightened their grip on his hand as a timid smile appeared on their lips.

 

“As I would like to know the same about you, good sir.”

 

There passed something unspoken between them, an understanding of hearts that Yuuri felt he’d only had with one other; but he pushed it back from his mind, knowing that the more he tried to compare Psyche to Victor the more it would hurt when it proved not to be true.

 

The plan was simple enough, they would set fire to the prison and when the guards left it unattended, Psyche would go in and release the prisoners that they’d then smuggle to Yuuri’s cart. It was exceedingly risky, but by the time they’d planned it out and prepared his cart, the afternoon sun was already beginning its slow dip down the horizon. Psyche insisted Yuuri not risk his safety any more than necessary, stationing him a few alleys down from the prison with his cart to wait for them to arrive; but there was a gnawing feeling of worry that such a simple plan would easily be undone.

 

That was when Yuuri spotted the fence behind him, leading to a patch of grass where several goats stood about grazing; and he wasted not a moment in _accidentally_ ramming his cart into the fence just enough that the goats could easily slip out from the fence and into the town.

 

A passing guard on horseback noticed the loose animals and quickly called to the nearest group of soldiers to aid him in their capture and Yuuri breathed a sigh of relief. Now Psyche need only get the guards in the prison itself away from the area.

 

There were loud shouts of “fire!,” a large amount of smoke beginning to billow its way up into the sky, and Yuuri did his best to look interested but nonchalant about the matter like every other citizen.

 

It wasn’t but a few minutes later that through that very same patch of grass once occupied by goats Psyche came with five people and they quickly helped each of them hide under piles of clothing or in between rolls of fabric. A smile passed between them once they were satisfied the five were duly hidden from view on all sides.

 

“Check every alley! Stop anyone suspicious!”

 

The sound of the guards voices drawing near made them both freeze, a question of what to do etched behind each of their gazes. Yuuri might not be suspicious tending to his cart, but the location in the alley and the added person of Psyche who they didn’t see come into town with him would surely arise enough suspicion that they’d at least be stopped a moment or two.

 

Yuuri bit his lip, worrying it between his teeth as he thought, and before he knew it, Psyche’s hands were on his shoulders pushing him back up against the outside wall of the nearest building.

 

“I’m sorry, Yuuri. We haven’t time for anything else.”

 

If his name spilling off those crimson lips didn’t shock him, then the passion with which Psyche kissed him certainly did; tongue sliding easily into Yuuri’s mouth and hands immediately going to tangle in his hair. And although Yuuri could count the number of people he’d kissed in such a manner on one hand, he knew without a doubt that no one kissed him like this aside from Victor.

 

“Hey there, find a better place for that!” the guard yelled down at them before his horse’s hoofbeats drifted further away.

 

Psyche pulled back then, eyes blown wide and chest heaving for breath, searching Yuuri’s expression. And Yuuri, drunk on the feeling of the kiss and the rush of adrenaline from the adventure, managed to smoothly reply.

 

“If only all distractions could be so enjoyable.”

 

There was a flicker of something in those blue eyes, as if they remembered saying the same words to another not so long ago, so beautiful and so familiar, and it took all Yuuri’s strength not to press the matter further.

 

“Come, we must go before they come back.”

 

The moment was gone and they had too much focus on their current task to chase after it now; both of them quickly getting up on the cart and nudging the horses forward and towards the eastern road out of town.

 

The guard there, having seen Yuuri earlier that day, didn’t hesitate to remark on the new addition to his cart.

 

“Well, it looks like you picked up a pretty friend, Mr. Katsuki.”

 

Yuuri didn’t even need to pretend to be flustered, because every reminder that it was most likely Victor sitting beside him was already turning him into a mess.

 

“They’re headed the same way and asked if I might give them a ride. Do you need to see my papers?”

 

He was already reaching for them when the guard waved him off. “No, no. We know you aren’t messing around and I’d hate to get berated by the royal family for accosting their tailor.”

 

Yuuri gave him a polite nod back then and wished him well before they started off once more and made for Santa Lucia. And safely into the forest between Pisae and Ivera, they pulled over into the farmlands and helped the five prisoners out from their hiding places.

 

“Ivera’s a short walk that way, but if you don’t think it’s safe enough, we can take you to Santa Lucia.”

 

Psyche spoke up then. “All the papers about your arrest were destroyed in the fire, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

 

One of the women came over and clutched both Psyche and Yuuri’s hands, wishing them well; and the men offered handshakes and nods in gratitude. All of them deciding to make for Ivera through the farmland that belonged to one of their family friends, knowing if all else failed they’d find safety with them.

 

“It… it feels so wonderful to really help people,” Psyche murmured quietly, watching them disappear over the horizon, the awe unabashed in their tone.

 

Yuuri gave a soft smile in return at that. “Yes, yes it does.”

 

* * *

 

It was right as the sunset was at its most beautiful when they arrived.

 

Coppa Nevigata had been well guarded since Ofantina was taken, the soldiers all alerted that this crucial port city on the coast would surely be next; and it was at almost every hour that they could be found patrolling the streets and guarding the roads in and out of the city.

 

But Sara had come up with a plan unlike anything they would be expecting and now that the matter in Pisae was settled, it meant she was ready to put it into action.

 

“Is everyone ready?”

 

The small catacomb passageway was dark as pitch, only the light from a torch to guide their way; Philia held it forward, knowing Sara would need to find the latch in order to push this door open.

 

“We’re good. Now we only need to wait for Eros’s signal.”

 

She could feel the warmth from Mila, who was standing close behind her, and Sara focused on that to try and calm her racing nerves; the events of Ofantina still lurking in the back of her mind as if to remind her that one small mistake could easily cost a life.

 

That’s why she’d not risked any but those who dared- herself, Mila, and those four of the Vermilion Rose- on this most perilous task; a task that would be hard to accomplish with only six but all the more satisfying if they could succeed.

 

There was a bird’s call, echoing three times, and Sara steadied her breath; this was it, a true test of her mettle against the Larussian army. Mila’s hand had found hers in the dark and now gave it a squeeze.

 

“You’ve got this, Sara. Let’s give them hell.”

 

She slid the door open slowly, knowing even one second more undetected could make all the difference; and one by one they crept into the shadowy basement of a house that had no idea their cellar was hiding such a secret beneath it. Eros had managed to get the family out of the house, not wanting them to be accidentally harmed if a skirmish broke out, and now it was up to them to make their way upstairs and out onto the streets without being seen.

 

Without the torch, which Philia had left at the entrance of the catacombs for when they’d need it later, they moved at a snail’s pace; Sara’s nerves rising up to plague her with every step.

 

She would not let a single one of these brave souls with her come to harm, no matter what, only that was certain.

 

After what felt like a lifetime, they finally made their way to the backdoor of the home and swung it open to a thankfully deserted alleyway; and Agape was quick to make his way to the front of the group to act as lookout.

 

“Go now, Storge, Pragma. We’re about to start,” he said softly, beginning to swing the strange weapon he favored to ward off anyone who dared investigate too closely.

 

Beside him, Ludus knelt, taking the odd hexagonal cylinder he’d brought with him on his back and settling it on the ground. He shot a look back at Sara and gave a smile.

 

“The bees are about to take flight, ladies. So steer clear.”

 

It was perhaps the most ridiculous and wonderful thing to have ever been created, and Sara was beyond thankful that when she’d suggested setting off fireworks to convince the soldiers they were being shot at from all directions, they’d happily told her they had just the thing.

 

A nest of bees. Thirty-two rocket tipped arrows that would launch with the light of one match.

 

Sara grabbed Mila’s hand and they waited, peering down the back alley and ready to spring into action the moment the fireworks began. There was the strike of a match, the sizzle of it being held to the wick, and the crackle as each of those little rockets flared to life and shot out from their holster.

 

She ran, Mila right behind her, both of them trying not to let the shouts and screams distract them from their mission tonight; for if they were truly going to drive a whole unit of soldiers from the town, they must waste not a moment in playing their crucial part in the scheme.

 

Already the commotion had drawn the attention of the majority of the soldiers, all of them gathering around the center of town as they questioned one another about where the shots were coming from and who was shooting at them. It was this chaos, this moment before any person in charge could _take_ charge, that they were betting on; for now without looking too closely, they were all ready to heed any commanding voice and its directions.

 

Eros, wherever he was hidden even Sara didn’t know, spoke then with a loud and booming voice most unlike his usual timbre.

 

“They’re on the east side of town! Hurry men!”

 

All the soldiers, whether on foot or on horse, heeded that instruction without a second thought; sheep ready to be guided by anyone who sounded important enough to dictate their movements. And not a man or woman amongst them realized that everyone had abandoned their posts and was now riding across the bridge over the river towards Paglicci; the only road that didn’t lead to a town already safely barricaded against any Larussian.

 

“There it is!” Mila’s voice called out as the bridge came in sight, the last of the soldiers on foot now crossing it.

 

Sara saw the three arrows as they soared, one after another, from behind them over the bridge, the rocket attached to each exploding with a gunshot-like reverberation that had the soldiers believing they were all indeed on the right path to their culprit.

 

Now it was up to Sara and Mila to make sure they couldn’t set foot back in the town.

 

The truss bridge, wooden and held steadily in place by its triangular frame distributing the tension, was the only way in or out of the town to the east; and like a bow string that tension could easily be snapped if you knew which part to pull.

 

As he’d promised, Eros left an axe hidden in the bushes near the bridge and Sara pulled it out and held it towards Mila.

 

“Would you like to do the honors?”

 

Mila blinked. No matter how many times Sara reassured her that her strength would be all they needed, she was still hesitant to hinge their entire plan upon her ability to strong-arm the bridge into destruction.

 

“Mi-la,” she intoned, stressing each syllable.

 

Blue eyes fluttered at her name and seemed to come back to focus on Sara and the offered axe in her hands; a nervous smile tugging at her lips.

 

“Yes?”

 

“If you’re thinking you can’t do it, you’re wrong,” Sara insisted, pressing the axe into her hands.

 

Once she accepted the weight of it, Sara was quick to close what little space was left between them, a smile upon her lips.

 

“Let’s show these boys what a couple of improper ladies can do, okay?”

 

That seemed to get a rise from her; that fiery spark now back in her eyes, as she replied. “You ready to haul me up when it goes down?”

 

Sara nodded, her hands now pulling out the length of rope she had hidden under her apron; a rope she now began securing around Mila’s waist and her own. If the bridge did cave in while she was still standing on it, Sara wanted a way to get her back to safety.

 

She had just finished the last knot on the rope when Mila stepped forward once more, the brush of her hair now tickling against her forehead; both of them looking back up at the same time and nervously smiling at one another.

 

“You ready?” Sara asked, hoping some of her faith had settled in Mila’s heart as well.

 

“I think so.”

 

Mila walked out onto the bridge, took one look at the center beams holding that tension tight, and swung; the sound of her axe only diminished by another shot of arrows setting their rockets loose after the guards to keep them there a moment longer.

 

As the wood began to grow thinner and thinner, the bridge started to buckle in; Mila shooting her a wide smile before she turned and started to chop at the beam on the opposite side. And like a bow string finally plucked to its potential finally letting free, there was a great crack of noise that echoed throughout the night as the beams of wood started to shatter under the tension let free.

 

Mila ran, but Sara could tell already the bridge was falling into the river’s choppy waters faster than her pace forward was carrying her; and she wound her rope around the nearby olive tree, the tug of Mila’s weight suddenly upon it bending the slender tree almost in half, and pulled with every ounce of strength in her to bring Mila back safely to the embankment.

 

Never in her life had Sara exerted herself like this, the strain burning the muscles in her arms, unused to such abuse and the rope rubbing raw on her hands; but it was her turn now to be strong and by God she would find a way to bring Mila back safe into her arms.

 

At the sight of the axehead swinging itself up to catch upon the bank’s edge, Sara ran for her; the armfuls of rope she pulled now feeling weightless with her excitement at knowing Mila was there, waiting for her to bring her in safe.

 

And as Mila tumbled over the edge onto solid ground, Sara dropped the rope and wrapped her arms around her, clutching her to her chest as if afraid she might disappear.

 

“I’ve got you, you’re safe.”

 

Mila’s arms wound around her tight and her chin nestled into the dip of Sara’s shoulder as if it always belonged right there; both of them breathing in gasps full of air while their hearts raced in tandem.

 

“We did it,” Mila exhaled, her breath tickling against Sara’s ear.

 

Sara leaned back, her lips pressing upon Mila’s forehead before she let a breathy laugh tumble free.

 

“I knew you could do it. I knew it!”

 

Mila’s smile was bright and warm as she nuzzled her nose back against Sara’s with a laugh of her own.

 

“We are terribly improper ladies, just so you know.”

 

Sara just smiled back.

 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

 

* * *

 

Tarraco was teeming with soldiers and guards.

 

Yuuri had suspected it might be so, given the previous day’s events. For not only had Coppa Nevigata fallen into Apulian control, but the citizens of Limisa had tried to revolt the day prior only to be thwarted quite soundly. These prisoners had been taken to the southern city with a stronger prison; but he had hoped if he came now he might find some weak spot they could take advantage of that night.

 

But after he delivered some premade attire to the small shop who he worked with there, he was surprised to feel a sharp tug on his arm pulling him alongside the building and into the shadows; and equally shocked to discover who it was standing there beside him.

 

“Psyche?”

 

“I’m sorry, I have so little time to explain,” they rushed out, pressing close to Yuuri’s side as if even the walls had ears. “But I need your help again.”

 

It had been but a day since he’d seen them last, enough time that Yuuri had thought countless hours about the identity of this unlikely hero who had seemingly appeared from nowhere looking to do what the Vermilion Rose sought as well.

 

Phichit had been rather convincing that Yuuri was only seeing it as Victor because he _wanted_ it to be Victor, which was reasonable.

 

But Guang Hong had quietly pulled him aside and told him, point blank, “Yuuri, trust your heart. If you feel in your heart it’s him, then it probably is.”

 

As much as he knew his friends wanted to help, it only furthered his misgivings and hopes; was he looking for signs it was Victor or were all the signs pointing to it being Victor because it was indeed him?

 

Even Phichit had faltered when Yuuri confessed that it was that kiss that made him really, truly, think it might be him. And the best advice came from Leo, telling him simply, “Trust yourself, Yuuri. You’re far smarter than I think you give yourself credit for.”

 

Had he not pulled off this whole charade so perfectly until now? Had he not somehow fooled guards and soldiers and princes all about who was Yuuri and who was Eros? If he thought he’d seen through a disguise of someone else, he wouldn’t dismiss his gut feeling on their identity; but due to the complexity of his feelings for Victor, the matter got tangled up abundantly with doubts.

 

The one thing he’d decided, most of all, was that if their paths indeed crossed once more; he’d find an answer he was satisfied with before they parted again.

 

“I don’t think the guards here will be as likely to let me pass unsearched,” Yuuri noted, knowing that he’d been searched rather thoroughly on even entering the city.

 

Psyche’s hands were quick to reach out and take his, clutching them in those gloved hands tightly but hesitantly; and they certainly seemed far more shaken this time then they did the last.

 

“I know. It’s taken me this long to figure out a way, but I need someone else I can trust. When I saw you I…”

 

They dropped their eyes to the ground, stepping even the slightest bit closer.

 

“Sorry. I keep troubling you.”

 

Yuuri shook his head, letting go of their hand to reach out and nudge their chin up until those blue eyes blinked at him.

 

“I told you, if you needed help again, you need only ask.”

 

Psyche let out a little huff. “I know. I just wish I was better at this so I didn’t have to risk your safety along with my own.”

 

Risk, it seemed, was something Psyche was almost overly aware of, Yuuri had found; the few hours they passed together in Santa Lucia enough to both set his heart and curiosity ablaze with a fire that had possibly only grown stronger.

 

He had learned much of this person in those few hours, perhaps more than they even knew they’d allowed him to know. Their name was indeed an alias, for when pressed for a last name they only could say they couldn’t give it without compromising their safety; and after a few conversations about why they’d chosen to try and help, Yuuri had gotten them to admit that it was indeed the Vermilion Rose that had inspired their actions.

 

But there was where, perhaps, the lines between himself and Eros blurred; for when Psyche spoke with such pride and warmth about the leader of the Vermilion Rose, Yuuri found himself both touched and honored, unable to tell which part of himself felt which. Eros was, as hard as it was to consider sometimes, just another part of Yuuri; the part that dared, the part that acted before overthinking things, the part that barrelled headlong into danger without a single thread of anxiety to hold him back. Eros was everything Yuuri wanted to be but was too afraid to let show.

 

If that was the case, then was Psyche just another part of Victor?

 

Assuming it was Victor, that was; but Yuuri couldn’t shake the idea no matter how he tried. And all that Psyche had told him really did fit into that part of Victor that Yuuri didn’t know.

 

The Psyche who admired the Vermilion Rose so much, he’d taken a name that showed reverence to their names. The one who worried so much for the people who were only trying to take back land that was theirs that he was willing to risk everything for them. The one who openly told Yuuri how scared he was that he was going to be caught and killed.

 

If Eros was the Yuuri he wanted to be, then Psyche could easily be the Victor behind the mask he wore in front of his father.

 

“Psyche, just tell me what I need to do,” he reassured him with a gentle smile.

 

Psyche took a steadying breath then nodded behind him. “Do you see the fields over there? There’s a farm not too far a walk from the city that owns the land.”

 

Yuuri nodded. “Yeah, I’m familiar with it.”

 

“That farmland runs from here to Limisa and I want to get across it with these citizens who were arrested without anyone seeing us.”

 

He raised an eyebrow at that, unsure how Victor thought he was going to manage such a thing; then he paused, realizing he’d already begun to think of Psyche as Victor as if it might as well be fact.

 

“The guards change their shift at the hour, and I’m going to take over for the female guard on duty of that section of the prison and sneak them out as quick as I can before anyone notices.”

 

“Then we need to hide when they search,” Yuuri noted.

 

“Exactly. There’s a barn not too far from the farmhouse, I’m aiming for there.”

 

This plan was… terribly risky, something Yuuri at first thought he should stop before realizing he’d probably do the same thing as long as he wasn’t risking his friends lives in addition to his own.

 

“What do you need me to do?”

 

“I hope to slip away as a guard during the alarm raised over the prisoners going missing, so I need someone to lead them to the barn while I do that. Can you do that for me?”

 

Once more, Yuuri’s part was exceedingly safe in comparison; but he could tell by the look in Psyche’s eyes that nothing was about to talk him out of it.

 

“Yes. I’ll meet you there.”

 

Psyche beamed at that, relief pouring over his frazzled nerves and giving him a glow that seemed ethereal, and he quickly pecked a kiss to Yuuri’s cheek before turning to run away, leaving only a rushed out “thank you” in his wake.

 

Whether it was the lingering impact of that chaste little kiss or a flutter of nerves over knowing Psyche- be they Victor or not- was risking great danger with this plan, Yuuri wasn’t certain; and even by the time he’d gotten the group of eight prisoners across the field without any sign of being followed, it was a feeling he still couldn’t shake.

 

It was as if he knew something, somewhere along the line, was going to go wrong.

 

He waited in the doorway to the barn, eyes searching across the field for any sign of Psyche following, and he breathed out a sigh of great relief when he saw that plumed hat appear over the horizon.

 

But by the time Psyche reached his side once more, Yuuri could feel that relief souring back into worry, for the look upon his face was ashen and pale beyond what his skin normally was.

 

“What’s wrong?” Yuuri asked the moment Psyche stumbled forward into his arms, his hands quick to settle on his shoulders to try and calm him.

 

“They’re going to search the farm,” Psyche breathed out, his blue eyes wide with a terror that Yuuri never wanted to see there again. “I heard them as they rode out of the town ordering the guards to check every farm in the area and in every bale of hay. This is surely to be their first stop.”

 

Yuuri’s heart was hammering so loud in his mind, it was hard to think; and seeing how visibly shaken Psyche was did little to help calm his nerves.

 

“We need a distraction,” he managed, already straining his thoughts to try and find one that would not be easily seen through.

 

When Psyche didn’t respond right away, his eyes faraway and glossy, Yuuri rubbed his hands down the soft linen of his sleeves; after a moment, those gorgeous blue eyes finally focused, his piercing gaze right on Yuuri.

 

“What we need,” Psyche said nervously licking his lips, “ is to make a scene they won’t dare interrupt further.”

 

Before Yuuri could process that, Psyche had already moved, turning to the eight people and instructing them to hide in the large pile of hay up in the loft; and by the time he blinked, he’d already begun up the ladder to the loft to help the people up after him.

 

Yuuri followed in their wake, his heart racing as if it had figured out what was happening before his mind could; and when Psyche took his hand, he tugged him close and murmured quietly so only he could hear.

 

“Are you okay with this? I don’t want to…” he paused, struggling to find his words, “force you into something uncomfortable.”

 

Yuuri’s mind felt devoid of any and all thought, a blank canvas upon which he was trying to find anything to help guide him forward; but at the sound of hoofbeats drawing nearer, it was if he’d been pricked awake, and suddenly Eros had the reins.

 

He pulled off his coat, throwing it to the side without a care to where it landed; his hands quick to snatch that hat off Psyche’s head and toss it in the same direction before his fingers went to untie the ribbon from around his waist and work on the front of the stay. And after a moment’s shock at seeing Yuuri suddenly take charge, Psyche seemed to snap back to himself, two tentative kisses pressed to Yuuri’s neck as he walked them back towards the hay, tossing his gloves aside, both of them stumbling back onto it and Yuuri’s glasses going askew as Psyche tumbled into his lap.

 

Yuuri took Psyche’s hand, gripping it tight and trying to impart some courage, for he was still shaking with nerves. And as Psyche reached down to fix Yuuri’s glasses, he captured his lips in a tender kiss that he pulled back from with a gentle smile; as if he’d taken that courage that flowed in Yuuri’s veins and drank it in as he did now the sight of Yuuri himself. Yuuri pulled the ribbon free from his hair, the cascade of silver spilling forward over his shoulder, and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of him, lit by a crack in the roof, leaning over him with such gentleness and fondness in his eyes.

 

Only Victor could be this beautiful, Yuuri thought, reaching up to cradle that soft cheek in his hand; only Victor could make his heart feel so full and bursting with love.

 

“Check in all those bales! Bayonet them and we’ll find those bastards yet!” the rough voices of the soldiers echoed across the field and they shared one last soft smile before they set themselves back to work.

 

Psyche’s fingers were deftly working each of the buttons of Yuuri’s waistcoat open while Yuuri tugged the cording on the stays until it fell away, the loose linen shirt leaving so very little to the imagination; and with less fabric now between them, Yuuri wasted not a moment in pulling Psyche down atop him, their lips crashing together with an intensity that was not just for show.

 

They parted only when they must; to snatch a breath when the other had left them breathless, to shed another piece of clothing that still lingered between, to gasp in surprise when the other touched them in a way daring and new. With fingers soft and unsullied by work, Yuuri felt Psyche pull his shirt open, the light dance of them across his chest ticklish enough for him to giggle into the kiss they were locked in.

 

Completely forgetting the reason they’d decided to have a romp in the hay, Psyche pulled back with a smile on his lips that now had shed most of their color somewhere upon Yuuri’s skin, and let a little laugh escape his throat as well.

 

“You’re ticklish?” he asked, merriment in his voice.

 

Yuuri leveled him a look, his hand swiftly pushing that linen shirt out of his way and tugging it off over Psyche’s head; his fingertips quick to light upon his chest and take hold of the pert little rosy nipples there, drawing from him a gasp that he felt in his groin.

 

A groin that, intentional or not, Psyche had just ground down upon making it very clear through their breeches that both of them were rather enjoying this distraction; a fact that Yuuri had just wrapped his mind around when the loud voice of a soldier yelled out at them.

 

“You there! What’s going on?”

 

So lost in their own little world, they were truly scandalized by having it intruded upon; Psyche quick to cover his chest and Yuuri knowing his face had to be as red as the lipstick probably smeared all over it.

 

“S-Sorry,” Psyche managed to stammer out, his face burning a darker shade.

 

Now at the top of the ladder, the soldier let out a sigh and turned back towards the others. “You two clearly haven’t seen anyone come through here, have you?”

 

Both Yuuri and Psyche shook their heads in the negative and the soldier gave them what was surely meant to be an apologetic smile before he climbed back down the ladder and gestured his men towards the door.

 

“Come on, let’s not waste more time here.”

 

They sat frozen for as long as it took for the sounds of the soldiers to die away and only drifted apart reluctantly and shyly once there wasn’t a sound beside their racing hearts to be heard.

 

Psyche had gone terribly quiet and was avoiding looking up after pulling his shirt back over his head; and unsure what he could do but willing to try anyway, Yuuri reached out for the stay that was thrown aside and lifted it up.

 

“Here, let me help you.”

 

His blue eyes shot up at the voice, Psyche staring at him a few moments before darting his eyes back down; Yuuri sat up then, reaching out until he could wrap the stay back around Psyche’s chest before setting about fixing the cords that now hung free, only pausing a second to gently sweep Psyche’s hair out of the way.

 

The silence between them was thick and heavy, as if both of them wanted to say something but were unsure of how to go about doing so after what had just occurred. Finally, as he directed Psyche to turn around so he could fix the tension of the stay with the cords in the back, Yuuri found his voice.

 

“You’re incredibly brave, I hope you know.”

 

Psyche sat up a little straighter at that, casting him a look over his shoulder; his smile a little sad around the edges.

 

“I mean it,” Yuuri reiterated, as he tugged the cords tighter, “you might think someone else better or braver, but you’re risking far more than most people would.”

 

“Am I?”

 

If he was Victor, why his risk was a thousand times more than Yuuri’s simply by default of his position in the royal family.

 

“From what I gather, the Vermilion Rose is all foreigners, but if I’m not mistaken… you’re Larussian, aren’t you?”

 

A hint of a laugh fluttered out in between breaths. “That obvious, huh?”

 

Yuuri let his fingers linger along his neck as swept the hair down over his back once more.

 

“It’s so incredibly brave of you, to go against your country’s wishes. You’re risking so much.”

 

Psyche turned to him then, eyes searching as if trying to understand the truth behind his words; and Yuuri found himself reaching out before he could stop himself, his hand once more sliding against that skin so soft only someone of noble birth could have it.

 

“I’m proud of you.”

 

It was such a simple thing to say, something you’d have heard thousands of times in your life from the people who love and support you; but as Psyche’s blue eyes welled with tears he was too prideful to let fall, Yuuri realized that he’d clearly not heard such a thing for oh so many years.

 

Psyche’s arms were around him in an instant, his voice choked as he whispered almost pleadingly into Yuuri’s hair.

 

“ _Thank you_.”

 

And Yuuri held him tight as long as he wanted to linger there in his embrace and pretended not to notice the damp fall of tears upon his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Nest of Bees is an early Chinese rocket battery; 32 flying arrows of death in a single shot. It was the Long-Range weapon of the Ming Warrior. srsly. China has some of the coolest historical weapons.
> 
>  
> 
> [SHARE THAT BEAUTIFUL ARTWORK HERE!](https://smolkristen.tumblr.com/post/178775124935/my-second-piece-for-the-llybb-i-just-love-drawing)


	9. The Origin of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for those that have taken the time to comment whether here or on discord or on tumblr! I've been wanting someone to scream about this story with since I started writing it back in March, so I really appreciate those who've interacted with me in some way about it! 
> 
> Feel free to comment here, [on tumblr](http://abarero.tumblr.com/) or find me on discord (Abarero#9701) even if it's just to keysmash or let me know you're still enjoying it!
> 
> That all being said, you may notice the chapter count increased. Due to an AO3 glitch, my first 7 updates were all backdated and so outside of my direct links to the piece, it never was seen elsewhere. In lieu of this frustration I want to have 8 chapters that are posted correctly, so a bunch of scenes I was cutting for time are now back in. I hope you're enjoying!

Phichit was, and always had been, a big enforcer of communication.

 

Perhaps it was due to his years back home, constantly seeing matters blown into fights because two people couldn’t sit down and talk something out like adults. Granted, he’d also come to learn that sometimes adults just didn’t have a diplomatic bone in their body- the Larussian King definitely coming to mind there- but it didn’t hamper his mindset much.

 

It was also why he found himself a bit wary of Victor and his motivations.

 

Phichit knew what being a royal child could be like, the pressure to appease your parents lest you shame them in front of the whole country and world was not something easy to forget. And if Victor was telling the truth about King Demyan leveraging the crown as a reward for either of his sons managing to capture the four troublemakers that plagued his lands, which given the younger prince’s downright ruthless tactics seemed very likely, it was reasonable to assume that Victor would at least make some effort.

 

But the more the days went by, the more Phichit wondered if Victor really was, as Yuuri suggested, doing the right thing.

 

He’d been protective at first, certainly, for he knew Yuuri’s good heart could easily be swayed by someone professing to be just as kind. The fact Yuuri had been a bit enamored with the prince before they’d even officially met definitely complicated matters too; for now that they’d drifted into each other’s orbit, it was near impossible to remove one of them from it.

 

Yet Yuuri had, unlike his usual avoidance of heavy matters, been very forthcoming about everything he could lately when it came to Victor. In fact, that was how he found himself now in Yuuri’s cabin aboard their ship, listening to him once more try to articulate the situation as he saw it.

 

By Yuuri’s estimation, it was simple. Victor had come to count on Eros to use his information to help his people where he could not, and now that Eros had disappeared from Victor’s reach, he’d been forced to take action himself. After the first day, Phichit had written it off at Yuuri’s broken heart desperately searching for signs that maybe Victor was on their side after all. But after the second encounter with this “Psyche” - even Phichit had to admit, he was having his misgivings; for Yuuri’s intuition had not led them astray yet.

 

But it was terribly hard to separate his protective nature to keep Yuuri from harm and his innate trust of Yuuri when it came to this matter. 

 

“I’m not trying to bring this up again just because,” Yuuri murmured quietly, still wringing his hands together, “but I thought you should know, what she told me, that is.”

 

Yuuri wouldn’t make something like this up just to prove his point, Phichit knew that much; but that also meant that somehow Eros ceasing contact with Victor had at least one known side effect that was rather telling.

 

According to the royal cook, who Yuuri had been seeing every morning possible in his disguise as the new supplier of food and drink for the castle, Victor had been barely eating since Eros and Yuuri stopped seeing him and had hardly left his room at all.

 

Phichit got up from the chair he’d been seated in and crossed to where Yuuri sat upon his bed, easily sliding down next to him and wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

 

“Well, he can’t be faking that entirely. Either he’s not eating or he’s sneaking out when he’s supposed to be in his room and eating then.”

 

Yuuri nodded quietly, the worry etched into every crevice of his expression. 

 

“This… Psyche? Did you notice anything about them that you think is connected?”

 

Big brown eyes blinked up at him, as if he’d not thought about that yet due to his concern, and Yuuri winced.

 

“When we were in Santa Lucia…” he let out a soft sigh, dejected as if inwardly berating himself for not seeing it sooner, “his stomach growled at one point and he just… laughed it off. Said with everything going on he must have forgotten to eat.”

 

Phichit frowned. He knew that ploy, he’d seen Yuuri pull it before when he was upset and it fit in perfectly with what the cook had said about Victor.

 

Yuuri closed his eyes, his fist clutching into the bedsheets. “I’ve got to do  _ something _ .”

 

“Yuuri…”

 

“Phichit, I’ve got to. I don’t want it to be like Leo and Guang Hong. I don’t want one of us to almost die before we talk about things.”

 

“You can’t tell him who you are, Yuuri. It’s just not safe. Even Sara doesn’t know our real names.”

 

“I know.”

 

“But…” 

 

Yuuri looked up then, the last vestiges of hope almost swallowed up by his distress, and Phichit caved. He couldn’t do this to Yuuri or, it seemed, Victor either.

 

“Do you think with the reward out for your capture you can get into Sigrosk without getting caught?”

 

At the question, something flickered back to life in his sunken eyes; that hope stalwartly hanging on against the tide of anxiety that threatened to drown it out. 

 

“What?”

 

Phichit gave his shoulder a gentle shake, as if trying to knock all those doubts out of his head so he could focus on what he needed to do.

 

“If Victor is Psyche, then he’s going to try something tomorrow unless Eros visits again. He can’t keep risking himself like that, so you’d better find a way into that tower tonight.”

 

Yuuri stared, as if he was afraid he was but imagining Phichit’s change of heart on the matter.

 

Phichit just grinned. “Yuuri, just be back by dawn and meet me in Sipious. Okay?”

 

The realization of what Phichit was saying took a moment to fully settle in Yuuri’s mind, but when it did his eyes welled up as he about tackled Phichit onto the bed in a hug.

 

“Thank you,” he breathed out, as if a great burden had just been lifted from his shoulders. “I promise, I’ll not tell him my name or take any extra risks. I just… I..”

 

They pulled apart from their hug at that and Phichit tapped him on the nose.

 

“I know. You really love him, don’t you?”

 

He had expected Yuuri to perhaps protest it, or become rather flustered and pretend he had no idea what he was talking about; but what Phichit hadn’t realized was that he’d noticed it before Yuuri had and the idea that he’d fallen for Victor had not quite hit him until this very moment.

 

And Yuuri, of course, as he was apt to do, surprised Phichit yet again; a light laugh huffed out as his smile relaxed into something warm and fond.

 

“Figures. I finally get my chance to get back at Larussia for what they’ve done and I have to go and fall in love with their prince. I really can’t do anything right, can I?”

 

But as much as he tried to play it off cool, Phichit could see the shine in his eyes, glistening with happy tears, and he pulled him back into a hug so Yuuri could pretend Phichit didn’t notice as a few escaped and dripped along his back.

 

How long they sat there, multitudes of unspoken words passing between them in a way that only friends could manage, neither of them could tell you; but when a knock startled them both back to the present, it found them both smiling bright and wide.

 

“Can we come in?” 

 

It was Guang Hong’s voice, and Phichit had a hunch that him and Leo may have been eavesdropping just a little.

 

“Yes, get in here you two,” he replied, trying to sound exasperated but failing spectacularly.

 

Guang Hong, that usual fire in his eyes, was to them first; Leo as always right behind.

 

“Look, I heard about what’s going on with Victor and I think it wouldn’t hurt if Eros visited him tonight,” Guang Hong began, and Phichit suspected it was a practiced speech. “In fact, it would be greatly beneficial to our plans tomorrow if he has any further information.”

 

Phichit shot Yuuri a look. “I see the romantics who don’t know what danger is are standing up for each other.”

 

Leo snickered at that and got a pout from Guang Hong that made him attempt to stifle it.

 

“It’s okay, Guang Hong,” Yuuri replied, his smile still shining just as bright. “Phichit understands now. I’m going to see Victor.”

 

If possible, Guang Hong looked slightly disappointed that he didn’t have to fight the matter further; instead sulking back against Leo who was quick to placate him by wrapping his arm around him.

 

“Well. That’s… good.”

 

“You two should head out soon. Pisae’s a bit a of ride from here,” Phichit remarked. Then deciding he was a bit disappointed he’d not gotten Yuuri flustered, went for the easier and more predictable targets. “Although I suppose if you only need one bed, it doesn’t matter how late you get an inn.”

 

This time, he’d hit his mark; both of them blushing up to their ears while Yuuri elbowed him in the side.

 

“Be nice.”

 

“I’m very nice. I’m just also very honest,”  Phichit countered with a grin. 

 

At Yuuri’s pointed look, he let out a sigh.

 

“Look, just be safe. All of you. I mean, who else am I going to tease if you aren’t around?”

 

And although he tried to laugh it off, the heart of the sentiment rang true; for as he watched each one of them leave that evening, they all took a moment to promise him that they’d make sure to come back safe. Always.

 

* * *

 

“It figures,” Leo grumbled as they opened the door to their room. “Phichit cursed us.”

 

Guang Hong sighed. He didn’t exactly think it was a curse, but he wasn’t about to say so and make everything even more awkward between them; for even the ride to Pisae sharing one horse had caused Leo to lapse into an odd silence.

 

“Well, you take the bed. I can sleep on the floor.”

 

“Leo,” he said as he sat down their luggage and turned to him with a firm look in his eyes. Maybe he’d hear the exasperation in his tone and realize he was being silly.

 

“You’re injured,” Leo countered.

 

Guang Hong frowned. Ever since that night in Murgia, things had gone back to being awkward and they were both avoiding talking about it; honestly, he was half-afraid that Leo had come to regret his actions, possibly only done in the heat of the moment.

 

“It’s been a week and three days. I’m fine.”

 

But Leo was already looking to set up a spot on the floor and Guang Hong felt his heart sink. He had to do  _ something _ .

 

So with that speed and agility that had been such a gift lately, he darted over to snatch Leo by the wrist and tugged him over to the bed, urging him to sit down next to him. He finally caved and Guang Hong sighed.

 

“We need to talk.”

 

He blinked. “Is everything okay?”

 

Guang Hong studied his hands, the lack of dirt around his fingernails from gardening something that seemed rather odd. Like something had shifted, not quite different, but not quite the same either. 

 

It was a lot like their relationship right now.

 

“Leo… look, I know things have been a bit weird between us lately. Because I don’t think either of us were quite prepared to step over that line from friendship into something else and circumstances kind of pushed us over it anyways. But I don’t think we can just ignore it either.”

 

He darted a glance at that, and Leo didn’t  _ look  _ mad; then again, Leo rarely did. When it didn’t appear Leo was going to say anything to that, Guang Hong pressed onward.

 

“So now… now I’m just scared. I don’t want to lose what we had, but I know we can’t go back to it either.”

 

“I didn’t realize you could be scared.” He tried for lighthearted, joking around like always, but it came across a bit off, like everything else between them right now.

 

Guang Hong bumped his shoulder over against Leo at that. “Shut up. I’m serious.”

 

Leo’s smile was hesitant and small, like he wasn’t prepared for a sudden heart-to-heart but was trying to be optimistic about it; and when he finally spoke up, his voice had a slight quiver to it, as if the emotions were choking it back.

 

“...you know, I’m scared too?  _ Really _ scared. You’re my best friend, Guang Hong and I’m afraid if I mess this up, I’ll somehow lose you.”

 

He was surprised to see how raw and unguarded Leo appeared; as if all the smiles and fronts he’d been forcing had finally crumbled away.

 

Guang Hong reached over and took his hand. “You won’t lose me. I’ll always be your best friend.”

 

“You sure? You did get shot a week and three days ago,” he replied, and this time the teasing came across with its usual warmth. 

 

“Yeah. Sorry, you’re stuck with me,” Guang Hong muttered back, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips; and he finally allowed himself to lean over against Leo’s shoulder and stay there.

 

Leo matched the smile with one of his own. “Well you’re stuck with me too.”

 

It fell into a comfortable silence between them, only the sounds of the night outside softly reverberating in the room; and for a moment Guang Hong thought Leo might have dozed off, but instead, he tentatively let go of Guang Hong’s hand and moved it to rest around his waist.

 

“Leo,” Guang Hong murmured, hoping he’d read the moment right.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Don’t sleep on the floor.”

 

“But…”

 

Guang Hong moved then, reaching up to press a finger over his lips and smiling when he noticed the light flush across Leo’s cheeks in the moonlight. He took a deep breath and dug down inside to find that courage that had served him so well as of late, hoping now it would give him the words he needed to set things between them back on track.

 

“I want you with me, okay?”

 

“ _ Oh _ .”

 

And he knew his face had probably blossomed just as red as Leo’s had at the implication, but he was quick to clarify.

 

“I mean… I don’t want to rush into anything. But…” he took another breath and darted his eyes back up to Leo, “I’d really like to kiss you, you know, when we’re not supposed to be pretending or when we’re not in jail and I’ve just been shot. If… that’s all right?”

 

If possible, the blush burst into bloom, spreading from his cheeks now to his ears.

 

“Puedes besarme hasta que mis labios canten tu nombre,” Leo breathed out, his eyes not leaving Guang Hong’s for a second.

 

He huffed out an anxious laugh. “Please tell me that wasn’t a no.”

 

Leo nervously let out a soft laugh. “Not a no,” he managed, the shyness seeming to sprout up over him immediately and entangle him with it to the point he couldn’t even look at him right now without blushing more. 

 

Guang Hong licked his lips and shifted, just a little more, towards Leo. “Then… what did you say?”

 

“You’ll laugh,” he muttered, reaching up to cover his face to hide his embarrassment.

 

Without that press of Leo’s hand against his back, Guang Hong suddenly  _ needed _ to do something about the space between them; erasing it in a heartbeat as he leaned in to grab Leo’s hands away from his face.

 

“Le-o,” he intoned, their knees now pressed together.

 

“You will.”

 

As always, his actions outpaced his thoughts, and Guang Hong found himself tackling Leo back onto the bed before his mind managed to catch up; Leo’s brown eyes wide and beautiful in the moonlit room as his hair fanned out across the pillow.

 

“Leo,” Guang Hong murmured, his voice sounding thick and low, “Please? I won’t laugh. I promise.”

 

Slowly, Leo’s eyes flickered up to meet his and Guang Hong found himself momentarily distracted by how stunningly bright they were, as if sunshine had mixed with the finest soils of the earth and created jewels that held both their riches.

 

Guang Hong rested his weight on his uninjured side and brought his other hand up to gently press against Leo’s cheek; hoping a physical sign of support might infuse Leo with a bit of his own bravery.

 

It must’ve worked, for he finally gave reply to the question.

 

“I said… ‘you can kiss me… until my lips sing your name’.”

 

The bud of affection that had been steadily growing in Guang Hong’s heart flowered at those words, the most vibrant petals unfurling, ready to soak in the warmth of Leo’s love.

 

He leaned down, his words ghosting over Leo’s lips in an unspoken question.

 

“That’s… very romantic.”

 

“Is it?” he asked, as if truly unaware his thoughts that snuck out in his native tongue had wrapped themselves around Guang Hong’s heart in a way quite unlike anything before.

 

“Then, can I kiss you the way I’ve always dreamed of kissing you?”

 

He searched Leo’s expression for an answer, seeing the way his eyes widened and his lips parted with a soft gasp; the depth of the affection Guang Hong felt now dawning on Leo in a way it hadn’t until this very moment. And it was like watching the sun rise, the brightness starting out slow and hesitant, but soon shining brilliantly as he looped his arms around Guang Hong’s neck and replied with a breathy “ _ Please? _ ”

 

Guang Hong could feel the giddy warmth rain down between them, washing away all the remnants of apprehension and fear that had been holding them back and wrapping them both in the comfort of knowing this was something they’d both been wanting for quite some time.

 

No longer afraid of coming across too eager, Guang Hong closed that last bit of space between them, his kiss deep and searching; not a chaste peck born of desperation or a gentle kiss of relief, but one with that intense fervor he’d been harboring inside for oh so long.

 

And if Guang Hong thought kissing Leo the first time was amazing, this time easily eclipsed it; the thrill like fireworks in his veins, setting his heart racing with excitement. 

 

Love, he decided, truly was the greatest adventure.

 

When they parted, breathless and starry eyed, their smiles spilt into giggles as they leaned close and soaked in the glow of one another’s warmth; rolling over onto their sides so they could tangle together even closer.

 

Perhaps he’d noticed the slightest twinge of pain flicker through Guang Hong’s eyes, or perhaps he’d already been considering it and their new positions merely reminded him of it, but Leo splayed his fingers over Guang Hong’s injured shoulder and looked to him with a question in his eyes.

 

“Can I…?” he mumbled, his thumb tracing the edge of the fabric at the collar down towards the tie that held the neck closed.

 

Guang Hong nodded, not trusting his words with how full his heart felt, and Leo very gently tugged the string until it fell open; his fingertips slowly and hesitantly sliding it down until the skin of his shoulder was exposed.

 

With that same gentleness Guang Hong had seen him use on silkworms or bees, he softly moved his touch over the injury, a slight frown pulling at his lips.

 

“Leo…”

 

“It looks much better, but…”

 

It was true, compared to how it fared a week ago, it was indeed much better off, the bruising eased and the stitches pulled out to let the wound close itself up; if someone didn’t know better, they might think he’d only rammed his shoulder into something hard enough to break the skin badly and cause a scar.

 

“But?”

 

Leo dipped his head down at that, pressing a feather-light kiss onto the skin slowly before raising his eyes up to meet Guang Hong’s gaze; the rest of his words written plainly in his expression.

 

_ It’ll always be here, won’t it? A reminder of your love for me. _

 

There was no more of the guilt that he’d been plagued with since it happened, for somehow tonight in opening up their hearts he’d finally understood how Guang Hong truly felt; and now he bestowed a reverent kiss upon this symbol of those very feelings upon his flesh before leaning his forehead against Guang Hong’s with a gentle smile.

 

“I made you some of that tea, just in case, so you can sleep without it bothering you.”

 

Guang Hong wasn’t sure how Leo knew he’d been having trouble sleeping, the pain in his shoulder just enough to cause discomfort that would keep him awake for a few hours more than usual before he fell asleep out of pure exhaustion; but somehow he’d not only noticed, but had gone to the trouble of making the one thing that would take the edge of pain away.

 

It was only this revelation and the warmth that it surrounded him in that made Leo getting up from the bed remotely bearable; for suddenly he was too cold and the pain was much more noticeable than before. Leo rummaged in their luggage before returning with his larger flask tugging the cap off and handing it down to Guang Hong.

 

Reluctantly, he sat up, preparing himself for the bitter taste of the tea; for as one might expect, willow bark tea tasted heavily of bark. But as Leo slid down next to him and settled a hand gently against his back, the taste of the liquid hit and he paused in surprise, turning to Leo with eyes wide.

 

“Better tasting?” he asked, a smile tugging at his lips.

 

Guang Hong nodded, taking another sip of it and finding it far more pleasant than before.

 

“What’s in it?”

 

Leo wrapped his arm down around his waist and settled close to his side; as if hoping he too might alleviate some of the pain Guang Hong had simply by his presence alone.

 

“You said it was too bitter, so I put in something too sweet to balance it out. My bees, I’m sure, were more than happy to repay the use of your fine gardens with the honey they made from it.”

 

“You’re the one that’s too sweet. How did you even know it was bothering me?”

 

At that Leo turned a bit pink and the shyness that had been ebbing away was back again.

 

“I um… I’ve just noticed by watching you. You’d make this pouty face right before you drank your tea as if preparing yourself for battle.”

 

A laugh tumbled free from his lips at that and he leaned into Leo’s hold. “It wasn’t  _ that _ bad.”

 

“Then why would you avoid drinking it even when you knew it’d help you sleep?” he countered.

 

Well, Leo had him there; the taste had surely been a deterrent when it came to how often he drank the tea. 

 

“How did you know I was having trouble sleeping?”

 

If possible, Leo looked even more embarrassed at that.

 

“You’d keep tossing and turning… and…”

 

Their rooms on the ship may have been next door to one another, but it appeared Leo had been paying more attention than Guang Hong realized. 

 

“Then you weren’t asleep then either!” he countered with a huff. “What’s your excuse?”

 

Leo mumbled something, but he couldn’t make it out. 

 

“Leo... what’s wrong?”

 

“I just… I was worried about you. I  _ am _ worried about you. And I kept thinking I should go check on you but I didn’t want you to think it was weird.”

 

Guang Hong smiled, nuzzling a bit into Leo’s side. “Why are we such idiots?”

 

“You’re not an idiot.”

 

“Yes, I am. Because part of the reason I couldn’t sleep is because I was thinking about how much easier I fell asleep when I was with you in Murgia.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“See. Idiots.”

 

“It only took us a week and three days to figure this one out, at least?”

Guang Hong lifted the flask up to his lips, and knowing now it was far more pleasant in taste, he tossed the remainder of the liquid back in one go; the sweetness of the honey lingering on his tongue as he threw the flask into their luggage against the wall and turned to press a searing kiss to Leo’s lips.

 

The honey might have been sweet, but Leo was still infinitely sweeter and he drank in the taste of him as if it was the best medicine his soul could ever have.

 

They only pulled apart when they had to, both of them kicking off shoes and breeches so they could shyly crawl under the blankets with one another; and Leo made sure to let Guang Hong rest his head upon his chest in a way that elevated his injury, knowing that it was yet another way that might give him a better night’s rest.

 

Guang Hong found himself drowsily tracing idle patterns across Leo’s chest as they talked about flowers and bees and silkworms and tried not to think much of the worries for the day ahead of them. And whether it was the tea or the comfort of having Leo’s arms around him or a little of both, Guang Hong wasn’t sure; but soon he felt relaxed and warm, leaning up to press one more sleepy kiss to Leo’s cheek before settling his head against his chest to let the cadence of his heart lull him to sleep.

 

“Guang Hong?” he murmured, soft and on the verge of sleep as well.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Sleep well,” Leo said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

 

And confident that it was true, Guang Hong quietly replied.

 

“I will since you’re here with me.”

 

* * *

 

At first, Victor was certain he was dreaming, for as of late, every rustle of the draperies or shadow near the window made him think that his nightly visitor had once more returned to him; but tonight, as he blearily rubbed at his eyes, if anything the shadowy figure became more distinct as it strode across the floor towards his bed.

 

Afraid to break the spell, Victor remained still and silent, only watching as he drew nearer to his side; yet upon noticing the odd bundle he carried with him, his words tumbled free into the quiet night that surrounded them.

 

“You’re back.”

 

It was not a question or a statement, perhaps more like a hope voiced aloud in order to speak it into reality. 

 

Eros smiled, but there was a sadness that lingered in it that Victor wished with all his heart he could kiss away.

 

“You’ve not been eating,” Eros murmured, settling his bundle on the bed atop Victor’s legs. 

 

Victor gave a sheepish look in reply; he didn’t even ask how he knew, just accepted that he did.

 

“Here, I brought you something. Please, eat it.”

 

Victor sat up at that, unable to hide the surprise that surely painted his features as the bundle was unfurled to reveal an ornate lacquered box; the box unstacked into two, each of them holding under their lids a selection of foods Victor knew were distinctly Adelasian.

 

“This is…”

 

Eros picked up two sticks in matching design to the box and pointed with them to each portion of the meal and named them off: tonkatsu, hakumai, tamagoyaki, onigiri.

 

“Sorry if it’s not to your taste, but it was the best I could do with limited time.”

 

Victor stared. “You… made this? For me?”

 

“Consider it an apology for my absence as of late,” Eros replied softly, that sadness still lingering in the curl of his lips. 

 

“Eros,” Victor reached out at that, settling a hand upon his silken sleeve. “You had every right to avoid me. After what my brother did…”

 

Those brown eyes flashed a hint of red at the mention and his lips thinned into a frown. “Still. I should have trusted you more. I’m sorry.”

 

Victor moved his hand, only so he might move the boxes from his legs and sit up properly; and gently patted the space beside him on the bed.

 

“All that matters now is that you’re here with me once more, dear Eros. Worry no more about the past.”

 

He settled beside him, his smile small and soft. 

 

“Then will you eat? For I must continue to worry about you until I know you’ve eaten.”

 

The honesty of the statement shocked Victor, something he’s certain must be in his eyes for the way Eros reached out at that, lifted a bit of the pork with his sticks and held it out in offering.

 

“You need your strength, Victor. Please, eat.”

 

His cheeks burned red at that, the combination of his name trailing from those beautiful lips with such an intimate gesture of compassion so much that Victor felt as if his chest could not hold all the feelings that burst forth inside; and hand shaking he reached out and did his best to mimic the hold on the sticks as he took them from Eros and clumsily ate the piece of food.

 

Victor’s eyes drifted closed, savoring the taste of it upon his tongue, and he swallowed it down; now able to smile back with the warmth of a thousand suns now burning inside.

 

“Wow. It’s so delicious!”

 

Eros smiled at that, finally allowing that worry to fall away and be replaced by a fondness Victor knew he couldn’t be imagining; a slight nod from him encouraging him to continue, and after some fumbling with the sticks, Eros reached over to correct his hold and help him gather up some of the white rice to eat.

 

“You’re doing pretty well for using chopsticks for the first time,” he remarked, when Victor went for a second try at the rice and actually managed it. 

 

He shook his head. “Just don’t ask me to do it with gloves like you, because that would be a disaster for certain.”

 

A peal of laughter spilt from Eros’s lips at that, the warmth of it along with the food settling in Victor’s empty stomach pleasantly and giving him a happiness he’d felt fleeting in the last week. 

 

They fell into a quiet repose, Victor slowly picking away at the food and from time to time having Eros’s hands swoop in to adjust his fingers’ grip on the chopsticks. His stomach was soon as full as his heart.

 

Eros handed over a flask of something smooth and crisp to the taste, a hint of something sweet that lingered after he drank it down.

 

“I’ve never drank an ale like this. What is it?”

 

He smiled. “Sake. Yamato’s answer to the Amorican ales and beers. I went with something a little more soft than dry, since I wasn’t certain what you’d like best.”

 

Victor shot a wink at that. “You should know I like things either sweet or spicy.”

 

It got the desired blush painted over his cheeks, accompanied by a huff of laughter that was rich and velvety, before Eros looked up at him with something twinkling in those beautiful eyes of his.

 

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better,” he said softly, the relief evident in his tone.

 

Having him back, knowing he wasn’t holding any grudge against him for what had befallen his friends, why it made Victor’s heart sing with a joy unparalleled; for aside from his encounters as Psyche with a certain tailor, he’d had little to bring him any happiness in these last days.

 

And at that thought, all his related thoughts tumbled back to the forefront of his mind; for there had been one thing those two meetings made him question more than anything else. Was Yuuri Eros? It was certainly not the first time he’d considered it, but previously it had been with hope and little evidence beside his own feelings. But he’d never kissed Yuuri before, yet somehow his lips were so familiar to him already in a way that he’d fixated on for the days since then; for as he replayed that day in the hayloft across his memories, it was like he could see both Yuuri and Eros in the man who had so easily laid him bare.

 

Eros stood and for one moment, Victor feared that he’d taken his silence as indifference; but then he noticed him settling the laquered box upon his dresser. 

 

“Eros?”

 

“You can keep this. Perhaps to use for trinkets or something?”

 

Something had definitely changed between them, a softness and a sentimentality that Victor couldn’t deny in both of their actions.

 

He let out a sigh. “I feel terrible that all I have to repay you with for such kindness is but just more news of the terrible plans my father has set for tomorrow.”

 

Eros gave him a gentle look at that, as if he knew already what Victor had been worrying about, and he returned to sit beside him.

 

“Pisae and Sipious?” he asked.

 

Victor nodded. “And Limisa.”

 

There was a flicker of panic in his eyes at that and Victor realized with a sickening jolt that only part of the plans had been known to him; meaning he’d still have to find a way as Psyche to help if they were to succeed.

 

“Limisa too?” he muttered. “This is the raids arresting anyone formerly registered in a minor guild, right?”

 

“Yes. Limisa was added to it only today from what I could tell,” he replied quietly. “I think they’re fearful after what happened in Tarraco.”

 

Eros swore. “They really want to make sure we’re split up to make it easier to stop us.”

 

Although he’d been dreading it, afraid that if Yuuri and Eros were the same he’d have to truly handle Limisa alone as Psyche, Victor took a deep breath and reached out to settle his hand over where Eros clutched the fabric of his pants in his gloved hand.

 

“Don’t worry about Limisa. I’ll find a way to do something.”

 

“You can’t go!”

 

“... what? Are you that worried about me?” Victor replied with a sardonic laugh. 

 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Eros countered, his eyes flashing with something fiery and fierce.

 

Victor felt his throat go dry, for he’d not expected anyone to be  _ that _ worried about him or his safety; and clearly his shock at his impassioned reply must be across his face, for Eros followed it up with a wary question.

 

“Why would you do something so dangerous?”

 

Victor turned at that, his eyes focusing on the dusting of stars out in the sky. He’d already thought this out and knew the risk, but it wasn’t as if anything important would be lost if it was him and not the Vermilion Rose that fell into unfriendly hands.

 

“You and your friends are out there risking life and limb every day, the Crispino woman and her friends, so many players in this game whose safety is vital if you are to succeed. As for me,” he turned, leveling Eros with a resigned look, “my father would probably be grateful if I just disappeared.”

 

“Don’t say that,” he snapped back.

 

He dipped his eyes to his hands, so soft and unmarred by a difficult life. 

 

“It’s true. I’m not going to support his views anymore, so I’m just in the way.”

 

Eros stood at that, his firm hands coming down to grab onto Victor’s shoulders. He shook him gently, his eyes wild. 

 

“Your father does not decide your worth! Victor, you are the most genuinely kind and noble person in the entire world. It’s so incredibly brave of you, to go against your father’s wishes. It would make your mother proud!” 

 

Echoes of those words, so similar and yet not quite the same, resonated in his mind; and for one brief moment it’s as if he can really, truly, see Yuuri’s soft and gentle eyes lingering behind that silken red mask.

 

Still, quite disbelieving, he asked, “You mean that don’t you?”

 

That inner fire grew brighter in his eyes. 

 

“I mean every single word.”

 

Victor lifted his hand up and gently pressed it against Eros’s cheek. “Thank you. But I still want to help you tomorrow. It’s the least I can do.”

 

“Victor…”

 

“I’ll be fine. I promise.”

 

Eros leaned closer, mirroring the gesture and placing his hand against Victor’s cheek. “Aren’t you afraid?”

 

Victor gave a soft smile at that. “The only thing I’m afraid of is not seeing you again.”

 

The shock caused him to step back, and he blinked down at Victor as if he’d clearly misunderstood.

 

“Sorry,” Victor mumbled. “I know that’s silly and sentimental of me, but being with you is one of two things that bring me any joy.”

 

Eros frowned. “And the other? Is it your dog?”

 

He let a nervous laugh huff out; for if this was Yuuri, as he felt in his heart it was, he wanted him to know. 

 

“She gives me great happiness, I assure you, but no. It is interacting with you and my Adelasian tailor, for both of you are the only ones who treat me as if I’m anything beyond my title. Christophe tries, but…”

 

There’s a spark of something simmering in his eyes. “An Adelasian tailor?”

 

“Are you jealous?”

 

“Very.”

 

Victor stared in surprise, for he’d only meant to tease. Were they two people? For how could Yuuri be jealous of himself? 

 

But Eros softly continued, “He’s very lucky, for he’s earned your favor without hiding behind a mask.”

 

Ah. So that’s how it was.

 

“Don’t all of us wear masks depending on who we’re with, invisible though they may be?”

 

Eros darted his eyes to the floor. “I suppose that’s true.”

 

Victor reached out, taking those two gloved hands and drawing him closer to where he sat on the bed. “You may wear a red mask over your eyes, Eros, but you don’t wear any other kind of mask around me.”

 

His brown eyes went wide and Victor felt a knowing smile tug at his lips; for who but he would understand that surprise at finding out someone had seen through the masks in place? 

 

“That’s why I’m so fond of you. Because when I’m with you, I don’t need a mask either. You and him may be the only two who truly know me, because you’re the only two who have bothered to try.”

 

The words hovered in the air a moment before it's clear they settled behind those russet eyes, his hands giving Victor’s a gentle grip as he nervously licked his lips.

 

“Then, if you were being completely honest with me… what would you ask me?”

 

Victor could see it in his eyes, that fear that his identity was all that mattered; but if he hadn’t been certain already from the feel of his kiss, he was now, for only Yuuri could make him feel like this simply by being beside him.

 

“Honestly?”

 

“Honestly.”

 

His heart began to race, and all he could think of no matter how hard he thought, was one simple request.

 

“Would you stay with me tonight?”

 

Eros’s mouth fell open in shock, having clearly braced himself for a question of who he was instead, and now he found himself unsure how to respond. 

 

Victor felt the tremor in his hands, all the fears that had been preying upon him these last days solidifying into one.

 

“If something terrible does befall either of us tomorrow, then at least… at least I could know what love is before that awful fate.”

 

Eros stepped forward then, his arms coming up to wrap around Victor’s head and cradle it against his lower chest; the beat of his heart possibly only outpaced by Victor’s own.

 

“... I’ll stay.”

 

“Eros, are you... “

 

He pulled back quickly, his gloved finger pressing against Victor’s lips. “Victor, you have bared your very soul to me tonight and I... “ he took a steadying breath, “I was at a loss as to how to repay your love. Now I know.”

 

Victor hesitated. “Only if it is what you want as well.”

 

“My dearest Victor, there is no place I’d rather be.”

 

And the soft smile that graced his lips was filled with such affection, Victor realized he must truly feel the same. His open arms were immediately filled as Eros stepped into his embrace and slid into his lap, the soft tickle of his words against his ear causing a tingle down his spine that pooled in his stomach.

 

“Figures, you’d have to actually sleep in a shirt tonight,” he teased, the leather of his gloves already brushing over the bare skin above his collar.

 

“Says the one wearing layers that I’m going to have to figure out how to get off,” Victor replied, trailing his eyes down the figure before him. 

 

Eros chuckled, the warmth of his breath trailing down Victor’s jawline before he reached the tie on his shirt and tugged it open with his teeth.

 

“Now you’re just showing off,” Victor managed, only a bit of breathiness to betray how easily he was coming undone.

 

“Only for you,” he replied, the strength of his thighs already driving Victor mad. “Shall you give it a go now?”

 

Hands shaking, Victor brought them up to caress down his neck, grabbing hold of the dark cravat and pulling him in for a kiss; the smile he could feel on Eros’s lips only giving him more confidence and spurring him on, his fingers deftly tugging the cloth loose and sliding it free. He pulled back from the kiss with a smirk. “Your turn, darling.”

 

“You do realize you have far less clothing than I?” he teased, his gloved hand already sliding up under his shirt and splaying across his back. 

 

Victor leaned in, brushing his lips against that bared skin of his neck that he’d only seen once on Yuuri, and began softly trailing kisses down it. “Simply means I must be strategic in my choices.”

 

Eros laughed at that, the sound like liquid fire pouring through Victor’s veins, setting him alight in its wake; the hand not against Victor’s back capturing his wrist and easily undoing the buttons there before sliding his finger up along with the sleeve.

 

“Your move,” he said, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips.

 

He slid his hands down his chest, fingers catching on the buttons of the waistcoat and making quick work of them; a vague memory of doing the same to Yuuri so recently only emboldening his move. Eros shrugged the waistcoat off, the elegant fabric falling to the floor behind them as he leaned more into Victor and pushed him back against the bedsheets, the warmth of his eyes accented by the red silk around them as they trailed down Victor’s figure before he lifted up his other hand and, while giving a chaste kiss to the top of it, flicked the buttons at the cuff free.

 

Seated above him, the moonlight danced across his physique and caressed each curve as if he was a work of art; which, he truly was, for there was no one as beautiful as this.

 

“You know,” Victor murmured softly, his fingers untying the sash that hung at Eros’s waist, “those wanted posters don’t do you justice. They don’t capture your beauty at all.”

 

There was a flush of pink across his cheeks at that, and for a moment that shy and demure tailor peeked out from behind the mask; Victor’s hand reaching up to once more cradle his cheek in his hand.

 

That insecurity now surfaced, caused him to dart his eyes away, his voice quivering as he asked, “Are you sure about this? You… you don’t even know my name.”

 

Victor moved his hand to rest over his heart, and with all the affection he felt for these dual sides of a man, he smiled up at him. “I know what’s in here is humble and kind and brave. I don’t need a name to love you for who you are.”

 

Rich brown eyes blinked wide, once, twice, then with a glossy shine as if he was holding back tears, he leaned down to capture Victor’s lips in a kiss overcome with happiness, all that he could not say poured into that kiss with a love that Victor found his heart overflowing with.

 

His fingers tangled in that sea of black curls, drawing him closer and losing himself in his touch; both of them with hearts so bursting with love that they could do nothing but try with every kiss and every touch to impart it across their skin.

 

Their game long forgotten, Victor’s breath hitched as those gloved hands found their way once more under his shirt and across his chest; the cool kiss of metal from that ring driving him wild and causing him to buck up into the touch, a gasp spilling from his lips as fingers traced over his nipples.

 

Victor found himself suddenly in desperate need to get the last layers between them out of the way, his fingers opening button after button until the red silk shirt fell open; his hands quick to press against the skin now visible. At the touch, Eros gasped, pulling back from their kiss to make quick work of his gloves and shirt before turning his attention to Victor’s shirt, which he swiftly drew up over his head and tossed out of the way.

 

Chest heaving, heart racing, Victor laid there feeling that piercing gaze caress every inch of his skin; certain in one thing above all else, this man had to be Yuuri, for only he could make him feel so loved.

 

“Gods, you’re gorgeous,” Yuuri breathed out, his callused fingertips gently and reverently sweeping over his chest as if he was trying to memorize every part of it.

 

“Not as beautiful as you,” Victor replied, endeared by the way it caused a blush to trail down his bared chest.

 

Yuuri started to get up at that, and for a moment Victor feared he’d gone too far and upset him; but he only knelt on the edge of the bed and tugged his tall boots and stockings off and deposited them on the floor before crawling back over to Victor, both of them falling easily back in to each other’s embrace.

 

There was a desperation now in their movements, as if they could feel their pulses racing and knew that there was only one way to satisfy the desire that had settled into their very bones; both of them only breaking from their kiss when Yuuri’s finger tentatively slipped under the waistband of Victor’s drawers. Victor needed not a single word to reply, for at the questioning look from those eyes he loved so, he nodded and returned the gesture as if to show he was quite serious about the matter.

 

He rolled Victor with him onto their sides, making it easier for him to slide the fabric off Victor’s legs and onto the floor before allowing Victor to unbutton his breeches and pull them and his own drawers down and out of the way; and between them they were left with nothing save that small silken mask that caressed Yuuri’s face that might as well not be there at all.

 

This, Victor thought, as they drank in each other’s true selves bared, was what love must be; for never had his heart been so joyous and felt so complete. And he wrapped his arms around his neck and held him tight, as if fearful this was all just one dream and that he’d wake up alone.

 

Yuuri must have realized this fear, or perhaps had the same one plaguing his own thoughts, for he held on just as tight as his legs tangled together with Victor’s. How long they idled like that, simply soaking in the love that was so thick in the air they surely could not be imagining it, Victor didn’t know. They only parted when the touch of the other was too much for their passions to be stayed much longer.

 

Soon, lips returned to lips as they intertwined, sliding together as they gasped at the briefest brush of each other; both of them already quite roused, the slightest touch sparked fire, and they were quick to find a matching rhythm that turned that spark into a blaze.

 

Victor gasped into their desperate kiss, a white-hot feeling eclipsing him and sending him over the edge; and Yuuri, for of this he had not even the slightest doubt of any more, followed soon after with Victor’s name spilling off of his lips as he did.

 

He laid there, feeling like he was floating on a cloud, as the wave of emotions crashed over him and left him breathless and sated. Yuuri’s soft kiss to his cheek was enough to cause him to stir, blinking his eyes open as a smile settled on his lips.

 

“My dearest Victor,” he breathed out, sounding as breathless as Victor felt, “do you know how much I love you now?”

 

“Yes, darling,” he replied, reaching out to caress his cheek. “For I’m afraid I love you just as much. Quite incurable, I’ve heard.”

 

There was laughter in their twinkling eyes, both of them twining fingers together between them and looking at their hands in awe; as if still in disbelief that someone so utterly amazing loved someone like them.

 

“Do you know the myth about the origin of love?” Victor asked, his other hand reaching out to sweep stray curls back from Yuuri’s face.

 

Yuuri tugged the blankets up over them before shaking his head in the negative. “I don’t believe I know that one.”

 

Victor smiled. “It’s an old Apulian myth. There was a time, many many ages ago, when two humans shared one body and one soul; the children of the sun being two men, the children of the earth being two women and the children of the moon being one of each.”

 

He reached out now, sweeping Victor’s bangs out of his face before cradling his cheek in his hand. 

 

“But the gods grew afraid of how strong they were, and so they split them in half; creating a great storm to blow the two away from one another.”

 

“That’s terrible,” Yuuri murmured.

 

Victor nodded. “But then Eros, Love itself, came to exist; for these two halves would spend their lives searching for their other half. That’s Love; that lonely search finally resulting in finding that other part of your soul and the joy of being reunited.”

 

He must have understood all the things Victor was trying to say laced in between his words, his loneliness only now having purpose because it had brought him to where he was tonight, wrapped in the arms of the man who held the key to his very soul, for Yuuri kissed him then in a way both touched and adoring.

 

There was a gentle smile on Yuuri’s lips as he drew back. “It appears Eros did find a way to bring us together again, didn’t he?”

 

Victor nodded, his eyes suddenly misty. 

 

“It seems he did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tale of the Origin of Love is from Aristophanes's speech in [Plato's Symposium](https://allthatsinteresting.com/plato-symposium) (and there's an awesome song version of it from the musical [Hedwig and the Angry Inch](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N2-QxyhAsT8) as well)


	10. Hanging on by a Thread

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been posting a lot of goodies for the story up [here](https://elusive-vermilion-rose.tumblr.com/) and I hope to add in some more reference posts on the fashion and details of the story. Check it out!

Yuuri had not planned on falling asleep.

 

In fact, it had been about a month now since he’d had a full night of sleep; for ever since he’d heard about the poor bakers in Apulia, it was as if he’d not allowed himself a moments peace to just… rest. Late nights spent planning or worrying or sewing, he’d been busy with far too many things troubling him to get a decent amount of sleep.

 

But somehow, with Victor’s soothing heartbeat beside him and his head pillowed on his chest, he’d dozed off into a blissful repose without a single worry plaguing him.

 

“Well. If I’d known, I would have brought twice the food.”

 

It was only now, at the sound of a quiet voice, that he stirred; and for one brief moment, panic seized him, his eyes flying open wide.

 

Victor sat up immediately, protectively despite probably holding the same fears in his chest, and placed a hand on the warm place on Yuuri’s chest his head had just been resting upon. Then Yuuri could feel Victor’s tense posture ease, his lips letting a heavy sigh of relief free.

 

“God Christophe, you scared me half to death.”

 

The attendant, for that had been why the voice had sounded so familiar to Yuuri’s drowsy mind, crossed the room as if nothing in the room was amiss.

 

“I’m terribly sorry, by the time I noticed I feared the guard would be more alarmed if I left abruptly and so I tried to act as if nothing was going on.”

 

Victor’s eyes had turned back to Yuuri, for he could feel the affectionate gaze caressing him where he laid tangled in silk bedsheets beside him, and he moved his hand up to sweep those unruly curls from his eyes; Yuuri immediately relieved to feel that there was still that silken mask over his face.

 

Well, he hadn’t fucked it up entirely.

 

“Eros,” Victor murmured after a pause, “be not afraid. Christophe is quite aware of my feelings for you and has promised to keep our dalliances secret.”

 

Yuuri met Victor’s gaze, trying to let the soft blue of his eyes wash over him to bring him some calm, for as much as he’d personally found the attendant a nice man, his worries still grew at the idea one more person knew something that could be dangerous in the wrong hands.

 

“I swear loyalty only to the Nikiforov lineage, just like my mother did,” Christophe noted, giving a bow in their direction. “Fear not my noble vigilante, I will take this secret to the grave before I betray the prince to anyone. Even his father.”

 

His heart’s racing fear ebbed at that, for he had a distinct feeling that he wasn’t just lying for the sake of appearances, and he slowly sat up beside Victor.

 

Christophe smirked at that. “Why don’t I give you two some privacy to enjoy breakfast and make yourselves decent before I return with Makkachin?”

 

Victor nodded. “Thank you, Christophe. You have my eternal gratitude.”

 

He made his way back to the door before pausing. “Fresh towels are under the washbasin, and do remember your plans for today and don’t get _too_ distracted, Sire.”

 

They shared a look at that, a pink dusting across their cheeks at his implication and Christophe bit back a laugh before giving a bow and making his way out the door.

 

“I’m sorry, I hadn’t intended to fall into such a deep slumber,” Victor began, his eyes downcast.

 

Yuuri closed the space between them, the warmth of Victor’s skin drawing him in, and pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder; his eyes trailing up to meet the gaze that had turned to him in surprise.

 

“I haven’t slept this well in at least a month, please don’t apologize for that.”

 

A shy smile pulled at his lips. “I must admit, I was afraid to find you gone when I awoke; all of this but a dream.”

 

Yuuri leaned closer at that, the curls of his bangs tangling together with Victor’s silver hair as they pressed their foreheads together and simply basked in one another’s presence.

 

“No dream,” he murmured. “I’m really here.”

 

Victor’s fingers reached up to slide into his hair, tugging him closer as he smiled into a kiss; and when they parted, both of them were smiling brighter than the dawn.

 

“We have much to do today, my darling. But my heart shall beat all the braver for having you in it.”

 

Yuuri nuzzled his nose against Victor’s, his heart overflowing. “And mine shall beat all the stronger for having your kisses upon my lips.”

 

How long they allowed themselves to linger, Yuuri wasn’t certain; for as much as they wanted to idle they knew they could not; both of them instead spending each moment they could as close as possible to one another. They shared the ample breakfast, washed and dressed themselves, and by the time Christophe had returned they’d been discussing their plans for the day as if it was but any other morning.

 

“Sire, if you wish to make Limisa in time, you should depart soon,” he remarked, already beginning to tidy up the mess they’d made of the bed.

 

“Can you make it out of the window now or do we need to find another way?” Victor asked, his eyes caught by the hint of sun peering over the horizon in the distance.

 

“I can manage it,” Yuuri replied, knowing fully the habits of all the inhabitants at this time of morning.

 

Victor gave him a searching kiss at that. “Be safe, darling. I worry so.”

 

Yuuri shook his head. “It is I that should worry. Please, be careful. You risk far more than I do, Victor. You know that.”

 

He nodded, but there appeared to be a firmer set to the blue of his eyes by the time they met Yuuri’s once more.

 

Knowing if he didn’t soon, he never would, Yuuri started for the window only to have Victor’s hand catch him by the wrist.

 

“One moment. I have something I wish for you to have.”

 

He swiftly went to his vanity and opened the top drawer, taking from it a white handkerchief, embroidered clearly by his hand, with red roses around the edges.

 

“Victor…”

 

“It’s not the best stitchwork, but I’m learning and…”

 

He silenced him with a finger to his lips.

 

“I love it.”

 

At Victor’s surprise, Yuuri took it from him and slid it under his waistcoat over his heart.

 

“I’ll carry it with me always.”

 

He melted at that, smile touched, and he reached out for Yuuri’s hands, which he then gave a gentle squeeze.

 

“Shall I see you soon?”

 

“As soon as the fates allow it,” Yuuri promised.

 

Then, thinking of the stitched roses now twined around his heart, he paused and reached up to pluck the jeweled stick pin out of his cravat before handing it over to Victor.

 

“Here. I want you to have this.”

 

Victor blinked down at it in surprise before a brilliant smile lit upon his face.

 

“I shall cherish it like no other, darling.”

 

They lingered in one last embrace, just soaking in the warmth that being with the other man brought them, and finally gave each other one last kiss goodbye.

 

And although they said it not in words, Yuuri could feel it in his bones that Victor’s parting words to him were the same as the ones he held in his heart for Victor.

 

_I love you._

 

He wasted not a moment more, scaling down the tower and using the morning change of the guard shifts to easily sneak out of the castle perimeters without alerting anyone to his presence; a task much easier after a night both restful and romantic to buoy his spirits. Even his ride south, the sun rising to the east and reflecting across the ocean, found him making quite good time; Victor’s love in his heart wind beneath his wings.

 

It was right as the sun’s rose colored hues danced across the cathedral in Sipious, the elaborate dome reflecting the beautiful rays of the morning, that he spotted Phichit waiting for him with a warm smile.

 

He drew his horse close, bringing it up alongside the one Phichit sat upon in the building’s shadow, and once he was near enough Phichit clapped a hand to his arm.

 

And he didn’t need to say a word, only giving Yuuri a piercing look, before he felt the blush overtake him.

 

“W-What?”

 

Phichit smiled, knowing. “Have a good night?”

 

“I just want to state I didn’t say or do anything to reveal my identity, okay?”

 

He reached out to ruffle Yuuri’s hair at that.

 

“Just bared everything else, huh?”

 

“Phichit!” he hissed in a whisper, eyes darting around for anyone that may have been listening in.

 

“Right, right, I’ll stop. But I’m proud of you, okay? You knew what you wanted and damn, you just went and got it.”

 

Yuuri sighed, rubbing at his arm. “I don’t know, maybe I am a different person when I put on this mask. It’s not like I could normally do that.”

 

“Wrong,” Phichit countered. “I have seen you do some pretty ballsy stuff when you put your mind to it. All that mask did was make you put your worries aside. You’ve always had this in you. Trust me.”

 

He put a hand over his heart, the press of that handkerchief something that tethered his nerves back and let all the things Phichit was saying settle into his mind with certainty; perhaps he was right, the mask wasn’t truly a mask, but a blindfold for his insecurities.

 

If he could worry and fret like he was now as Eros, then perhaps Yuuri could be just as daring and brave and kind as Victor thought he was; two sides not so different after all.

 

“You notice any guards heading this way when you left Sigrosk?”

 

Yuuri shook his head. “No. It was odd, but they didn’t seem in any hurry this morning.”

 

Phichit frowned at that. “Think they called it off?”

 

“But Victor said they’d added Limisa to the list as well. What he’d overheard at least implied it would be all three cities.”

 

“Velia’s guard could handle Limisa, but if they wanted to go after Pisae or Sipious you’d think they’d be sending down someone from up north.”

 

It hadn’t struck him as that weird at the time, for he’d thought perhaps it was merely planned for later in the day and he was up rather early, but the more he thought it over, the more it didn’t add up. Even if they’d called in the regiments from Murgia or Almavira, they would have been passing through Sigrosk at some point. And this didn’t seem like the type of raid where they’d want to wait until later in the morning when a good portion of their targets would be out of the house and off at work.

 

Why the only guards right now that could have started already would be the Velian regiments, for Limisa was only a short ride north.

 

A cold horror settled over him at that. What if they’d not added Limisa in hopes to split them up more? What if instead, Pisae and Sipious were the decoys and Limisa was the real goal?

 

“Philia,” he said low and quiet, “ride to Pisae and get Ludus and Agape. Now.”

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

Yuuri took a deep breath. “I think Pisae and Sipious were intentional rumors so we wouldn’t notice that they were really going after Limisa. They wanted us waiting for them in the wrong place.”

 

“Shit. Are you going on ahead alone? You should wait for us.”

 

It was as if Yuuri’s heart had stopped, his whole body feeling numb and cold as he met Phichit’s eyes.

 

“Victor’s there.”

 

Phichit swore. “Okay. I’ll get backup, you go. Go now!”

 

Yuuri wasted not a moment more, nudging his horse into motion and riding as fast as the steed could go on the road south; hoping that if he was lucky, he wouldn’t be too late to intervene. But as he rose over the crest of the hill before the town, he could see smoke on the horizon and Yuuri knew with a sickening jolt that what luck he’d had before now had clearly run out.

 

He cared not for secrecy or stealth at that moment, riding as fast as the wind into the town, his black horse but a blur as he rode through with his eyes set upon the billowing smoke in the southeast corner; hoping perhaps his bold move might draw the attention of the guards and he might lead them away from where Victor could be.

 

But as he drew closer to the scene, he could just barely make out a bevy of guards surrounding a house and one lone figure blocking them from entering, long silver hair billowing in the wind.

 

The neighboring house was already aflame and one guard held a torch, clearly about to bring the same fate upon the house Psyche stood bravely in front of; only his outstretched arms and steely gaze holding them back.

 

“Stand down!”

 

Yuuri could just hear the yelling over the hoofbeats, and he pushed his horse faster, speeding across the field that laid between him and his goal.

 

“No! I won’t allow you to harass people who have done no wrong!”

 

Victor sounded so brave and strong, his voice that of a prince firmly giving orders that were meant to be obeyed; but unarmed and by no accounts anyone the guards thought they should listen to, Psyche was fighting a losing battle and the soldiers rushed towards him with bayonets drawn.

 

He should have run, no one would have thought him a coward for it, but Yuuri watched in terror as he realized Victor was standing his ground.

 

“Psyche run!” he yelled, his voice raw for how loud he forced it to be.

 

Yuuri’s heart raced in his ears, nothing but the sound of it and the hoofbeats echoing in his mind, as he saw Victor try and take one step in his direction.

 

But it was too late.

 

The first soldier’s bayonet thrust true into Victor’s chest, the long blade piercing right through.

 

“Apulian filth!” the soldier swore, kicking Psyche off his bayonet. “That’ll teach you to mess with us.”

 

Victor stumbled back, each step weaker than the one before it, and he toppled back over the fence and into the river that ran below.

 

Yuuri jumped off his horse, threw down his sword, and was down to the riverbank in a single heartbeat; wasting not a moment before he waded out into the current and dove towards where Victor had fallen.

 

Gunshots rained down in his wake, for of course they’d noticed that blur of red and knew who it must be, and he struggled through the quick flowing water to avoid them; his eyes finally catching on a body floating surrounded by a cloud of red which he swam towards with all his strength.

 

Finally, his arms reached Victor and he took him in his arms and pushed himself towards the surface; and the gods must have taken pity on them for he surfaced by an area of thick underbrush beneath the small bridge the farmers had built over the river to their fields.

 

With the shadows to shield them, Yuuri pulled Psyche up under the bridge and held still a moment, listening for voices.

 

“You see anything?”

 

“No, but there’s some blood in the water here. We might have gotten him!”

 

“Let’s not waste our time anymore or he’ll use it against it,” the commander of the regiment instructed. “Get these prisoners and let’s move on.”  


The voices and footsteps drifted away and Yuuri moved with haste, trying to sweep the tangle of hair from around him.

 

Wet and heavy, the wig tumbled off and Yuuri felt his stomach lurch; while he’d been certain Psyche was Victor, this was not the way he wanted to verify that fact.

 

“Victor, Victor _please_ ,” he begged, trying to shake him awake, but he didn’t stir.

 

His skin was clammy to the touch, and Yuuri could only detect a weak pulse, the wound still bleeding heavily.

 

Yuuri ripped the sleeves from Psyche’s shirt, quickly shredding the white linen into long strips of fabric before he began to peel back the stay and shirt from the wound; and there, right above Victor’s heart, was Yuuri’s stick pin, the bottom of it bent with the force of the bayonet.

 

Tears slipped free then and Yuuri tried in vain to fight them back as he did his best to put a compress over the opening on both sides of Victor’s chest and wrap it in tight bandages to keep pressure on it. He needed to get help and fast; but it wasn’t as if he could just find the nearest doctor and bring in the prince of the country without questions being asked and the wig was in no state to be worn again.

 

He remembered then something Mila had told him, saying that she had someone in her village who could help out anyone who was injured without asking too many questions. He’d just have to risk it.

 

Hating to leave Victor’s side for even a moment, he made his way up the riverbank and took stock of his bearings; his eyes lighting upon the nearby farm house where a small cart sat outside a barn with two horses.

 

He’d have to take off his mask, hope that the almost burgundy appearance of his wet shirt and ridding himself of his waistcoat and cravat would do for a disguise, and ride as fast as those horses could manage for Florentina.

 

Climbing back down the riverbank, Yuuri stooped to lift Victor up and cradle him in his arms; pausing only one moment to press a kiss to his damp forehead before he made for the barn.

 

_If I only get one wish the rest of my days, then let it be this._

 

_Save him._

 

* * *

 

When Phichit arrived in Limisa, he could already tell that something had gone terribly wrong.

 

Multiple buildings were just burning embers now, no sign of the soldiers or Yuuri, and there was an eerie quiet as if the whole town was in mourning.

 

Finally, a woman caught sight of the three of them and ran towards them with tears in her eyes.

 

“It’s not true, is it?”

 

Phichit blinked. “What?”

 

“That they killed him!”

 

His blood ran cold and shakily he dismounted.

 

“We just arrived, can you tell me what happened?”

 

She sniffled. “W-When they went to arrest the Dewhurst family, they were able to escape because one of your men held them off. B-But they say the soldiers killed him and threw him in the river. And your leader- the one in red- he jumped in after him and they… they…”

 

Phichit settled his hands on her shoulders, but who he was calming- her or himself- he wasn’t sure.

 

“Please. I need to know so I can try and help.”

 

“They shot into the water,” she sobbed out. “And no one’s seen either of them again.”

 

Phichit turned then to Guang Hong and Leo, knowing the horrified looks on their faces surely matched his own.

 

“Split up. Search the city. If Eros is safe he’ll have left us a message hidden somewhere.”

 

He looked back to the woman, tears still streaming down her face. “Thank you. Hopefully this is but a misunderstanding. Why they shot Agape not long ago and he’s perfectly fine!”

 

At this point, Phichit knew he was saying this because it choked back his own fears; for even if Yuuri was safe, Victor might…

 

The woman nodded, trying to hold back her tears and give a smile. At least Phichit was convincing one of them that everything was okay. He made sure she was safe then climbed back on his horse, leading it towards the ruins in the city’s southeast side as if knowing that would be where Yuuri might leave them a message.

 

He’d been searching the area for a few minutes when a heavy gust of wind blew in from the coast, and Phichit paused, his ears catching the sound of paper. Sure enough, underneath a stone fragment on top of a short pillar, there was a crumpled handwritten note.

 

_Let the saints guide you to where the two fair maidens call home_ . _Pray for my heart’s strength._

 

Phichit sighed in relief; for even if it sounded like Victor’s condition was not good, at least Yuuri still had enough hope to take him to Mila’s. Now it was up to him to find Leo and Guang Hong and to get into the catacombs without anyone noticing them; for the last thing they needed right now was to lead anyone right to where at least one of them was sure to lay injured.

 

He wasted no time in tracking down the other two, relaying the message, and then taking their horses to a farmhouse not far from the river on the southeast side; securing a message in the bridle of his horse that said to please return them to a farmer further north.

 

And soon they found themselves in the narrow and dank passages of the catacombs, Phichit doing his best to decipher the map Yuuri had given him and hoping he was doing it right.

 

“Do we… really not know if Victor’s okay or not?” Guang Hong finally asked after what seemed like at least an hour in the tunnels.

 

Phichit shook his head. “Yuuri said to pray for his strength. That’s all I know aside from what that girl told us.”

 

Up ahead, they saw a familiar shrine to one of the saints and Phichit inwardly thanked whatever gods were looking over them that he didn’t get them lost on top of everything else that had gone wrong that day. It wasn’t long from there, he knew, but he also knew Yuuri would probably be completely panicking and the three of them being just as tense wouldn’t be much help.

 

“He’ll pull through,” he said quietly, almost more to himself than the others. “If he’s as stubborn and in love as Yuuri is, he’ll find a way.”

 

“I hope so,” Leo murmured softly. “I can hardly imagine what Yuuri’s going through right now.”

 

In the dim light, he could see Leo drift closer to Guang Hong at that, his hand hesitating before taking Guang Hong’s hand into his own. If anyone knew what Yuuri must be feeling right now, Leo probably came closest; considering it hadn’t been that long ago that he’d found himself in a similar state of worry over Guang Hong.

 

Guang Hong turned back to give Leo a slight smile. “It worked out okay for us, so let’s hope… for Yuuri’s sake.”

 

Phichit nodded and it fell silent a bit longer.

 

But suddenly, Leo came to a stop in front of one of the shrines and Guang Hong and Phichit paused with him; the torchlight now illuminating the figure of a skeletal woman, carvings above of owls and an oil lamp, draped in a robe that had clearly not been down here as long as the rest of the shrine had.

 

“Leo?”

 

“It’s a sign.”

 

Guang Hong and Phichit shared a look.

 

“What? This?”

 

He nodded; the smile that had been absent from his face for hours now starting to resurface.

 

“Someone’s made this a shrine to Nuestra Señora de la Santa Muerte,” he murmured, clearly in awe. “Probably because the symbols already here fit, but someone from Arawak must have moved here and made this.”

 

“Doesn’t muerte mean death?” Guang Hong asked, eyes filled with worry.

 

But Leo’s warmth had come back now, hope shining like sunshine in his eyes. “Our Lady of Holy Death. She might be a personification of death, but you can pray to her for everything and she’ll look after you. Even if… you’re doing something that might be criminal by someone’s rules.”

 

Phichit gave Leo a look. “I’m going to guess you’ve been chatting with her some lately then?”

 

He nodded, seeming a bit shy about it. “A little. But… she hasn’t let me down yet and Yuuri did say Victor needed prayers… so…”

 

Leo reached down, picking up an old candle from the altar and holding it to the torch to light it; using it then to light the other candles that were scattered about. It’d probably been at least a hundred years since someone had lit the candles last, but the cold air of the catacombs had kept the wax safe around the wicks for all these years. It gave the small area an eerie glow and the shadows it cast upon the skeleton almost appeared to bring it to life.

 

“Take my hands and we’ll ask her favor.”

 

Phichit shifted the torch to his left hand and reached down to take Leo’s hand with his right, Guang Hong taking his other hand as they both looked to Leo expectantly.

 

“Santisima Muerte, formed by the hands of the Great Redeemer to be Guardian and Protector for all mortals born of this Earth, you never refuse thy aid and charity to all who call out thy Holy Name in their times of desperation and suffering. Wrap your wings around us and shield us from the storms that have appeared in our path. Grant us health and love and safety as we fight for that which is right and good and turn back any of our brave friends who may stand at your door into our loving arms. I ask of you this humble request and thank thee for your hope and kindness. Amen.”

 

Perhaps there was a breeze from a nearby exit that Phichit just couldn’t feel.

 

Perhaps the old candles just couldn’t burn any longer.

 

Or perhaps Santa Muerte really was listening and wanted them to know she’d heard their prayer.

 

Whatever the reason, as Leo brought the prayer to a close, all the candles on the altar went out; leaving them once more only in the torchlight, which seemed dimmer than before.

 

The three of them exchanged a look and then silently bowed towards the altar and made their way forward; a strange hint of incense lingering in the air after them.

 

* * *

 

The first thing Victor registered was Yuuri’s voice.

 

There was such a thick fog surrounding his thoughts, almost like the muffled sounds one experiences underwater, and he couldn’t make out much for a long time; there was a heavy pressure on his chest and it felt like he couldn’t gasp in enough air.

 

But Yuuri. Yuuri shouldn’t be there. Unless, like he had before, he’d shown up right when Victor needed him.

 

“Thank you, Mila. I’ll do what I can until she can get here.”

 

On hearing it once more, this time a little clearer, he found himself chasing after it; swimming through the fog until he finally opened his eyes.

 

Beside him was a sea of red and he brought into focus not Yuuri, but yet, still him. It was Eros. And before he could manage to speak, he found himself coughing until something thick came up with it.

 

“Victor!”

 

His arms were around him in a heartbeat, a cloth dabbing at his lips; brown eyes far too wide and too full of fear, but when he pulled the cloth back with a red stain across it, Victor realized why.

 

That’s right, he’d been stabbed. That’s why he felt so strange, his body cold and his breathing heavy.

 

Was he dying? The thought horrified him and made a chill quake through his body.

 

Eros moved immediately. “What’s wrong? Victor, can you talk to me?”

 

He nodded, at least wanting to try and convey that he could hear him, but still felt so short of breath he wasn’t sure if he could force out words without making it worse.

 

But at those brown eyes so scared, he decided he could try.

 

“H-Hey.”

 

It sounded as horrible as he felt.

 

Tears welled in his eyes and Eros tried to hold them back. God, Victor never wanted to hurt him like this; and even the idea that he had made his chest ache more than it already did.

 

Gentle fingertips brushed the bangs that had stuck to his forehead with cold sweat out of his eyes.

 

“Sorry. You kind of lost your disguise when you hit the river,” he said quietly, trying desperately for a smile but not quite managing it.

 

Victor lifted a shaky hand to grab onto his, holding it where it rested against his cheek. “Who knows?” he somehow croaked out.

 

Eros’s smile finally surfaced at that, small and clearly relieved just to hear Victor speaking.

 

“Just me. And… two of my friends. We’re getting a healer here in the village to come and take a look at you, but Mila tells me she’s half-blind and kind of senile so I don’t think she’ll notice who you are unless we spell it out,” he rambled out, jittery with worry for sure.

 

“How bad is it?” he asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

 

His other hand settled on Victor’s chest, which felt like it was tightly bound with cloth; his stay and shirt gone.

 

“Hopefully better than it looks?”

 

Eros seemed just as wary of the answer as Victor felt. He tried again.

 

“What happened?”

 

His eyes softened at that, as if exceptionally fond. “You didn’t back down when they charged you with a bayonet. It… went clean through. Then you fell into the river. Thankfully, I was right there and I was able to get to you, but…”

 

“I’m sorry,” Victor mumbled, the look upon Eros’s face so afraid and worried it was breaking his heart.

 

“Don’t be,” he replied, gently caressing his hair. “You were so brave. I’m proud of you.”

 

Victor wasn’t sure if it was hearing those words again that made his chest grow tighter or if it was just the pain, but he forced a smile as best as he could.

 

There’s the sound of voices, the creak of footsteps on the stairs, and Eros looked up to the door.

 

“Here’s Madame Morandi,” a red haired young woman said to Eros, letting a bent over little old woman enter with a basket. She blinked on seeing Victor awake. “Oh, hello. I’m Mila. Madame Morandi is a maga, so she should be able to help.”

 

Victor’s Apulian knowledge was too weak to decide what the term she used meant, but he had a feeling it was not the word ‘doctor.’ The old woman came over beside him and gave him a toothy smile.

 

“Not feeling so well, are ya?”

 

He shook his head. “No, not really.”

 

“All right, back up handsome. I gotta get closer if I’m going to work any magic here,” she murmured, shooing Eros from the chair beside the bed Victor laid on. He moved to Victor’s other side and knelt down beside him, taking his hand.

 

“Ah figures, all the handsome boys are taken,” Madame Morandi quipped before giving Victor a look, “or getting themselves stabbed being brave. You gotta learn to stab the other guy first, sweetheart. Remember that next time, won’t ya?”

 

Victor shot Eros a smile, this time a little less forced; the old woman’s silly remarks buoying his spirit.

 

“Yes ma’am,” he managed in reply.

 

She grinned, cackling a little to herself. “Good boy. Now let’s see what Madame Morandi can do for ya.”

 

As she began to peel back the layers of cloth bandages, some of it sticking to his skin with dried blood, Victor winced; Eros clutching his hand tight and letting him squeeze it back.

 

The woman clicked her tongue. “Lucky boy, just missed your heart. But we’ve gotta sew you up soon so you can breathe again. Any volunteers? The poor boy has a big enough hole in him already and I’m afraid I’ll only make it worse.”

 

“I can,” Eros replied firmly. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

 

Victor stared, for even though he’d been so certain Eros and Yuuri were one in the same, this had been the closest he’d come to admitting it.

 

The woman rummaged in her basket, muttering to herself as she mixed the leaves of one plant with another and mashed the two into a pulp; now slathering the green poultice into Victor’s wound.

 

He winced and she just shook her head. “Got one more, sit up boy.”

 

Eros helped him, standing immediately to aid him in leaning forward; for the action alone seemed only make his breath grow shorter.  She applied the poultice there and then turned back to Mila.

 

“Give him some of your strong drinks to keep the pain down and wash around the opening with whatever he’s drinking before you stitch him up. No sloppy stitches or I’ll just have to come back and stuff more leaves in him, got that?”

 

The smile on his face was all Yuuri’s, gentle and soft and filled with a warmth that Victor could feel like a balm on his soul.

 

“Yes ma’am. I’ll make sure I do it properly.”

 

She turned to Mila now, speaking to her in Apulian; the woman biting back a laugh before she ushered her from the room, leaving the two alone once more. Yuuri gave Victor’s hand one last squeeze before he moved back to his other side.

 

They lingered in silence, Victor still feeling like there was not enough air in his chest and Yuuri just gently caressing his cheek; the fear still there, but muted now.

 

Mila returned with another woman, both of them carrying a mug of beer in their hands. After a brief moment, Victor recognized the second woman; both of them catching each other’s gaze and growing still with realization.

 

It was Sara Crispino.

 

He could see the wariness in her expression, her eyes darting to Mila and Yuuri for reassurance; and although he knew it would hurt, Victor did his best to sit up, pushing Yuuri’s hand back when he tried to hold him down.

 

Victor only winced twice, which he supposed was a good sign, but still tried to put on the calmest and kindest smile he could at the moment.

 

“I don’t know what they’ve explained to you, but,” he paused, taking a few breaths before continuing, “I’m sorry. The way you’ve been treated by my father was completely uncalled for and…”

 

Yuuri finally succeeded in getting him to lay back. “Victor, while I’m sure Miss Crispino appreciates your noble intent, I think she’ll also understand if you want to wait until you feel better before talking.”

 

But he pressed on, determined to let this woman know he would bring her no harm.

 

“I wish you the best of luck in retaking what is rightfully yours, Miss Crispino.”

 

“Victor,” Yuuri scolded. “Please, you’ve already been almost killed for the cause. I think she knows you’re not about to turn her over to the guard.”

 

She crossed the room at that, holding the mug in her hands down to him with a soft smile.

 

“You are perhaps the most unexpected ally, your highness. But Eros has told us what you did today for the people of Limisa and I think that speaks louder than any words.”

 

He shakily took the mug from her, Yuuri’s hands quickly appearing to help him guide it to his lips.

 

“Thank you. Both of you ladies, for your understanding and hospitality.”

 

They shared a smile at that, before Mila nudged Yuuri with the other mug. “Here you go, you can drink whatever you don’t need to wash the wound with. I’m sure you could use it. And here,” she reached now into her apron pocket and pulled out a needle and some thread, “I ran the thread through some wax like you asked.”

 

Yuuri nodded. “Thanks. With skin, it’s easier to stitch that way.”

 

Already quite lightheaded, the drink easily went to Victor’s head and made it all the more fuzzy. The ladies departed and Yuuri encouraged him to drink a little more before he started. But even as he used the cloth to dip into the mug in his lap and wipe over the wound, there was such care and gentleness; Yuuri coming to a stop and checking on Victor every time he so much as flinched the slightest.

 

His head felt full by the time the drink was gone, and all he could focus on was Yuuri’s hands as they easily threaded the needle and ran his fingertips over the opening in Victor’s chest.

 

“I’ll need to do the one on your back first. Can you sit up without my help?”

 

Victor tried, but he still found himself a little woozy; so Yuuri easily slid into the space behind him and propped him up with his body, the brush of his fingers now dancing across his back.

 

He tried to think of the night before, when Yuuri’s hands had clutched him there in passion; the pinch of the needle not as bad as he expected, and of course the stitching was done quickly and most likely immaculately.

 

“You all right still?” he asked.

 

Yuuri settled him against his chest so he could reach over his shoulder to the other wound and Victor leaned back against him, trying in vain to soak in his warmth into his chilled bones.

 

“You’re here. I can endure anything as long as you’re by my side.”

 

“Don’t say that,” he shot back, voice sounding thick and choked.

 

He blinked up at him, startled at how that sadness had once more come over him; and Victor could tell he only started to stitch to try and focus on something else. Victor watched the stitches flow across his skin, the red thread standing out starkly against his pale skin that was even paler with sickness.

 

And there, at the end of the stitches, he saw it. That same little flourish Yuuri always did when he was doing decorative stitches to in some small way sign his initials onto his work; the small little KY in red thread now seated just below Victor’s heart.

 

He started to turn then, wanting with even his limited breath, to press a kiss to those lips; to try and impart that he knew now, knew for absolute certain, and he could not be a happier man.

 

But before he could do so, he felt the damp fall of a tear on his skin.

 

“Y-” he paused, not wanting to scare him at a moment like this. “You okay?” he finished lamely.

 

“No,” and it came out a sob. “No I’m not.”

 

His hands lifted from Victor at that, reaching up to wipe the tears from his face; but it was in vain for they kept falling.

 

“It just missed your heart, Victor. You could’ve _died_ . You could _still_ die,” he choked out.

 

And that raw emotion, the honesty of his fears, struck Victor harder than any bayonet ever could.

 

He reached up at that, desperate to stop Yuuri’s tears, and tugged one of his hands away from his face.

 

“You know why I’m alive?”

 

Yuuri shook his head.

 

Victor smiled, hoping to impart his faith to Yuuri along with it.

 

“Because that pin of yours was over my heart. The tip of the bayonet hit it first and slid down. It was your love that saved me, and I believe in it to keep me with you.”

 

Brown eyes blinked wide, once, twice, before suddenly Yuuri had wrapped his arms around Victor; his lips brushing against his scalp as he spoke.

 

“Then it’s really good that I didn’t ruin your gift to me by using it to bandage you, because I’d feel really bad right now if I had.”

 

He was still crying, perhaps harder now than before, but the lighthearted tone in his voice and his warm arms around Victor assured him that his message got through.

 

“I would have just made you another one,” Victor murmured.

 

There may have been tears in his eyes now too, but he didn’t care; why, he’d laugh if the mere idea didn’t sound painful.

“Can I stay here with you?” Yuuri asked quietly, shifting as if he wanted to lay down beside him.

 

“Darling, I always want you with me.”

 

And as Yuuri moved them until he reclined against his chest, Victor caught that hint of a smile back on his lips and he knew he’d do whatever it took to keep that smile from fading away again.

 

* * *

 

It was the most people Mila thought she’d ever had in her home.

 

Perhaps it was a Babicheva thing, for while they were friendly with their neighbors and with those in the guilds, they still kept pretty much to themselves. Well, with one exception. Although Mila hadn’t been there for it, she knew Sara’s father had spent many nights plotting and planning underneath their roof; and it was almost as if their ghosts were here now with so many brave souls gathered there instead.

 

Yuuri had told her that if they were lucky, Phichit would have figured out his note and to expect a knock coming from the basement; and not more than a few hours past his arrival, sure enough, there was a loud knocking on the hidden door in the basement.

 

Phichit’s fear had clearly distilled into a seriousness that rarely found itself on the man’s face, and Mila was quick to assure him that Yuuri was perfectly unharmed.

 

“If Victor is hurt, then Yuuri is hurting too,” he’d countered.

 

And as if it hadn’t been quite obvious already from the way Yuuri had arrived at her door holding the limp body of none other than the crown prince with tears in his eyes; the hours since then had definitely made it quite clear that Yuuri was romantically involved with said prince.

 

Mila had teased him, trying to lighten his nerves, that they’d done right to give him the nickname Eros if he was off seducing princes; but it had only brought to light that apparently that’s all he was to the prince as of yet.

 

Phichit had been quick to clear up that matter as well.

 

“I didn’t want to risk it when I was still not sure he could be trusted,” he muttered, his lips still in that uncharacteristic frown. “Eros has sworn by him all along, and now, well… I feel terrible for _not_ trusting him.”

 

“Philia, don’t,” Mila said, putting a hand on his arm. “There’s enough guilt in this household without you adding to it.”

 

He gave a wry smile. “Sorry, sorry. But once we have a chance to sit down and talk, well… I don’t know.”

 

“You want to keep your friends safe,” she noted. “That’s understandable. But I do think almost dying for your cause kind of makes a good case for it.”

 

“Victor tried to apologize to me,” Sara cut in, “as if just hearing what he’d done hadn’t won my favor already. I think he’s definitely earned all our trust.”

 

“He’ll have it,” Phichit reassured them.

 

Mila gave him a smile. “Eros wants us to figure out how to get him to Yamato so he can heal without any chance of interference. I’d have him explain it, but I think he’s earned a bit of a rest after all he’s been through today.”

 

Phichit waved his hand. “Yeah, please don’t disturb him. We can figure that out for him, it’s the least we can do for all he’s done for us.”

 

“You have any ideas?” Sara asked.

 

“Seung-gil departed Sigrosk this morning and was to meet us in Santa Lucia with our ship. So all we must do is find a way to get Victor onto the ship without anyone recognizing him.”

 

“Couldn’t we just disguise him?” Leo asked.

 

Mila shook her head. “There’s already rumors spreading like wildfire out of Limisa that one of your men has been shot down. If you hadn’t come via the catacombs you would have noticed the increase in the guards passing through here looking for any sign of you all.”

 

“Could we get there through the catacombs?” Guang Hong suggested. “It would take forever though.”

 

“That’s my concern,” Phichit replied. “I don’t think Victor’s in any state to be led through there. We could try disguising ourselves, but I suspect any group of four or five men right now is suspect.”

 

“I agree,” Mila added. “They were knocking on doors and everything. Thankfully they bought the story that the red stain on the cart tied outside was just some spilt wine.”

 

“I have an idea.”

 

Everyone at the table turned to Sara, who had that spark of fire burning in her eyes; Mila had grown familiar with that look and she knew immediately that whatever this was, it would be the key to their success.

 

“What’s that?”

 

She smiled, looking to Mila then back to the boys. “We got word while you three were underground that Pisae threw out the guard when they tried to go there; apparently hearing about one of the elusive Vermilion Rose being killed was just the push they needed to push the few Larussian loyal out of the town.”

 

Phichit’s eyes lit up, catching onto the idea. “Are you thinking… revolt?”

 

Sara nodded. “Sipious will protect us if we ride through there, then all we have to worry about is Santa Lucia. So… what if we rally those in Pisae and Sipious and bring them along?”

 

Mila grinned. “Leverage the tense emotions in our favor, I like it. I’m sure the port city will be heavily watched though. Especially since it’s known as the fastest to Yamato.”

 

But it didn’t damper the fire in Sara’s eyes, if anything, it stoked it higher.

 

“We have two hot-headed women, three able bodied members of the Vermilion Rose, and their leader who I’m certain is itching to fight some Larussians given what they did to his beau. Even without the assistance of the people, I think we could take the city no problem.”

 

“So just don’t even try to hide who we are?” Phichit asked, wariness in his expression.

 

“They aren’t a navy, they can’t chase you back to Yamato. We just have to make sure they don’t notice which ship you get on,” Sara noted.

 

“We’ve already taken down a bridge, boys. I think we can come up with something to keep them busy so you can sneak out. Why hide when the people are behind you?”

 

Phichit turned then to Leo and Guang Hong, a question in his eyes; a question that they all answered with a shrug and smile.

 

“As always, you are a born leader, Miss Crispino,” Phichit finally replied. “So while ours is busy doting, we put ourselves in your trustworthy hands.”

 

Sara put her hand in the center of the table and looked around at those gathered there with a gentle smile that quirked up at the corner; something Mila had noticed about her mannerisms when she was feeling particularly mischievous.

 

“You ready to go piss off some Larussians?”

 

Phichit placed his hand atop hers, quickly followed by Guang Hong and Leo; Mila following up last with a smirk as she spoke.

 

“Lead on, Storge. Let’s teach those bastards to regret ever laying a finger on a certain noble prince.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Nuestra Señora de la Santa Muerte](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Santa_Muerte) (Spanish for Our Lady of Holy Death), often shortened to Santa Muerte, is a female deity or folk saint in Mexican and Mexican-American folk Catholicism. A personification of death, she is associated with healing, protection, and safe delivery to the afterlife by her devotees.
> 
> At one time, many villages had a number of folk healers who could cure a variety of illnesses, They ranged from those who cured with herbs, magic formulas and prayers to professional sorcerers who were called in serious cases of magical attack. In practice, however, these practitioners overlapped, since almost any illness could be judged to be the result of a magical working. Folk healers seldom referred to themselves as streghe (although their neighbors might call them such), but as fattuccchiere, "fixers," maghi (masculine plural; singular mago), maghe (feminine plural; sing. maga), "magic-workers."


	11. A Rose by Any Other Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to the utterly amazing gay historical novel (set in the 18th century!) _The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue_ for originally using this analogy with Kintsugi.

They’d been lucky.

 

Sara had come up with an outstanding plan of action, and every single worry Yuuri voiced was quickly addressed and appeased; the matter of making sure no one could recognize Victor something the two women of the household had been more than willing to handle.

 

Mila unearthed an old wig of papillote curls in powdered white and grey, along with a dress and a hat much like the one Victor had lost to the river, in her mother’s old belongings. So they freshened him up, put some makeup on him, and by the time they were finished he definitely didn’t look much like the crown prince.

 

So Yuuri had ridden with him seated in front of him on a horse they’d been able to borrow from one of the farmers in Florentina, and the whole group of them made for Santa Lucia.

 

As Sara had predicted, the gathering of the Vermilion Rose along with the two ladies known to spearhead the revolts in Apulia was like a match struck to a powderkeg; the people of Pisae and Sipious rallying behind them without preamble. Even the heavy guard in Santa Lucia didn’t stand a single chance against such an onslaught of people doing everything from pelting them with rotten fruits to chasing after them with farm tools. And while they bid Sara and Mila thanks and sent them to liberate the city prison, the Vermilion Rose slipped out onto the docks and snuck away.

 

Now safely aboard their ship on the way to Yamato, Yuuri worked to get Victor out of his disguise and into something more comfortable for his injury; which at the moment was a loose cream silk shirt of Yuuri’s in addition to the pants and boots he’d managed to maintain during his fall into the river.

 

But the more Yuuri thought about Victor and disguises and his own silken mask that still remained on his face despite usually shedding it once onboard, the more he wanted to tell Victor everything. 

 

“Sorry about… this,” he’d muttered, gesturing to it.

 

Victor just gave him a soft smile. “It’s fine. I’ve told you, I love the man behind it no matter what.”

 

“But… Victor, I really think it’s only fair at this point. I know your secrets, you should know mine.”

 

He reached up at that, his still too-cold fingertips brushing the curls beside his mask. “If you can’t tell me, I understand. Don’t let this trouble you so.”

 

Yet it did! Oh how did it trouble him! Yuuri  _ loved _ him, and he wanted, no  _ needed _ to know that Victor was aware of all facets of the man he said he loved in return.

 

“I’ll be right back.”

 

It didn’t take him long to track down the other three, Leo and Guang Hong idling by the bow of the ship and Phichit resting in his room. It was Phichit, out of all them, that Yuuri wanted to understand this decision.

 

Victor looked a bit worried when he returned with the other three along with him, and Yuuri was quick to return to his side and take hold of his hand once more.

 

“I… I want Victor to know who we are,” he murmured, his words coming out stronger than he expected.

 

“Eros…”

 

It was Phichit. Of course, he was probably still worried. Yuuri closed his eyes, trying to gather his courage to argue this point with his best friend one more time, but Victor spoke up first.

 

“Look, how about I fancy a guess and then we’ll go from there?” 

 

Yuuri froze. Had he figured it out? When? How?

 

But Phichit smiled and stepped closer at that. “All right, your highness. What’s your guess?”

 

Victor turned his focus then back to Yuuri, his hand resting gently against his cheek as he spoke like there was no one else in the room.

 

“At first, I think I was just hoping. Because it’s terribly difficult to find yourself falling in love with two very charming and wonderful men at the same time.”

 

He paused then, his thumb sweeping softly beneath Yuuri’s eye.

 

“But then Psyche ran into a certain tailor of mine.”

 

Yuuri tensed, his heart hammering loud in his ears.

 

“And, well, as silly as it might sound, I knew that man’s kiss when I shouldn’t have; for as much as I very much wished to be that bold with my tailor, I had yet to work up the nerve.”

 

He was trembling now, his eyes welling with tears, as Victor brought his other hand up to cradle his other cheek.

 

“Yet if I needed one more sign, then God gave it to me. When I ran myself afoul of a bayonet it was the charming Eros at the needle that stitched over my heart; the man doing just as he always did and rearranging the pattern of the last two stitches to spell out his initials- KY.”

 

Victor’s thumbs brushed the edge of that silk mask now, tears dampening the fabric, and he gave him a most beautiful and loving smile.

 

“Katsuki Yuuri, that’s you, isn’t it?”

 

How he managed to nod in reply, Yuuri wasn’t sure; for his heart was so overcome with love that he thought he might drown in it. And slowly, Victor slid that mask off his face and smiled at him once more.

 

“Hello my darling Yuuri. Do you know how much I love you now?”

 

Tears spilling forth, he fell into Victor’s arms, their lips drifting together as natural as the tides.

 

They only parted when Victor, still not quite as full of as much air as he’d like to be, must; but they lingered so close that only a single thread would fit between them, Yuuri’s lips brushing against Victor’s when he replied.

 

“I do. For I’m afraid I love you just as much. Quite incurable, I’ve heard.”

 

Victor tried to wipe those tears from his eyes, but Yuuri only laughed and more spilled free; Victor’s own eyes misty and shining bright with affection.

 

“Okay, but you haven’t kissed me, so what’s your guess for me?” Phichit finally cut in.

 

Reluctantly, the two turned with a giggle towards the three they’d forgotten were still in the room.

 

Victor tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I’m going to hazard a guess that you are one Phichit Chulanont, namely because I really hope the poor tailor who had to deal with my brother was the same one who ended up embarrassing him over and over again as a member of the Vermilion Rose.”

 

Phichit laughed. “Sound reasoning, your highness. I’ll take it.”

 

And as Phichit tugged that mask off, Leo and Guang Hong followed suit; Leo stepping forward first nervously to extend a hand.

 

“We’re good friends of the two you already know. I’m Leo de la Iglesia and this is Guang Hong Ji.”

 

Victor took each of their hands and shook them before giving them all a smile. 

 

“The four bravest men I know, I thank you all from the bottom of my heart for helping my people when I could not.”

 

Phichit just grinned. “Says the guy who just got a bayonet through the chest. I think you’ve definitely earned your place amongst our number, your highness.”

 

“Victor,” he clarified. “Amongst friends, I simply want to be Victor.”

 

“Victor of the Vermilion Rose,” Phichit replied with a smile. “I like it.”

 

Victor smiled back, looking from them to Yuuri; and perhaps he was imagining it, but perhaps he wasn’t, but Victor’s smile brightened in a way that Yuuri knew was all because of him.

 

“I have always been fond of roses,” he murmured, sweeping a finger over Yuuri’s lower lip. “Especially the red ones.”

 

And Yuuri couldn’t hold back from kissing him once more at that.

 

* * *

 

It was long past sunset by the time they arrived to a sleepy seaside town in Yamato; the mist of the evening now turning into a light fog that made the place look almost dreamlike and mysterious. Yuuri had absolutely insisted on helping Victor from the ship, and no amount of trying to assure him that he could walk unaided now would change his mind. Phichit had remarked that he’d best give up, because once Yuuri set his mind to something, there was no turning back; and Victor had remarked that it was a trait that had surely served Eros well.

 

Yuuri had become oddly silent at that, and at the time Victor thought it was merely because he was tired from the exceptionally long day they’d had; but as they made their way from the docks into the town, there was a distinct tension in Yuuri’s shoulders that hadn’t been there before.

 

There was an inn that surprisingly still had some lights lit, and the group made for it as if it was often the location they stopped after making land; at first Victor thought it might just be the inn’s locality, but then he noticed the sign hanging over the neighboring doorway: Tailor.

 

Before he could ask of it, the door to the inn swung open and a shorter woman came rushing out towards Yuuri, her expression rather shocked at seeing Victor’s arm draped over Yuuri’s shoulders, and the two exchanged words in their own language that clearly had Victor’s name scattered within the conversation.

 

Whatever Yuuri said, it must have been important, for the woman immediately turned to Victor and took his free hand.

 

“My brave child, thank you,” she said slowly, clearly not as used to speaking in Amorican. 

 

Victor bowed his head in return. “It is these four that inspired a coward such as myself into action. My country owes a great debt to them.”

 

“Victor…” Yuuri mumbled, seeming embarrassed by it.

 

“It’s true.”

 

He leveled him with a glare. “You’re not a coward. Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

 

He began to argue that, truly he was, for he could have done so much had he only the courage to act sooner; but Phichit stepped up at that and settled a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder.

 

“Says the man who called himself a coward for years.”

 

If Victor hadn’t been supported by Yuuri, he had a feeling he would have reeled around and confronted Phichit face to face; but as it was, he merely huffed and gave Victor look.

 

“Fine. But no more, okay? From either of us.”

 

Victor nodded.

 

As the group made their way inside, it became even clearer that this must be family. Yuuri’s family. For not only did they have an abundant table set out with food, but there were two others that were sitting up waiting for them, both of them equally surprised to see Victor with the group.

 

“Yuuri, who’s that?” a woman about Victor’s age, probably a bit older, asked as she held her long pipe aside and blew a cloud of smoke.

 

“Mama can explain. Can you help her in the kitchen?”

 

“Okay, but I’m asking Phichit for all the details you left out,” she remarked, standing to go assist the woman.

 

Victor watched the two go, and realized the woman that had spoken with him must be Yuuri’s mother; his chest becoming a soothing kind of warm at this knowledge, her words weighing so much more in his heart now.

 

The man, who Victor now assumed based on age and resemblance, must be Yuuri’s father; stood and walked over to help Yuuri with Victor. 

 

“He’s hurt?”

 

“Yes. Badly. Perhaps grab a few more pillows?”

 

He nodded before moving to do so, both of them finally getting Victor settled with an ample supply of pillows propping him up; and he gave them both a smile along with his thanks. Before long, mother and sister returned with one more bowl of food and placed it before Victor. 

 

There was just such a warm and gentle feeling in the room, filled with laughter as Phichit recounted the events of the day as melodramatically as possible, Yuuri trying to correct his exaggerations but finally giving up. The woman who Victor discovered was Yuuri’s sister was quick to try and get something about the two out of Yuuri, but he’d grown exceedingly embarrassed and claimed that they’d discuss it when Victor felt better.

 

But from the look in her eye as she watched Yuuri leaning over again and again to help Victor manage the chopsticks, Victor had a distinct feeling she knew there was at least something special about the relationship between them.

 

The food- a dish called katsudon- was filling and settled what uneasiness remained on Victor’s stomach from the rough waters they’d been through; and all of Yuuri’s family seemed to be very understanding that any further questions or details would have to wait, for it was surely past midnight now and they were all exhausted.

 

Before Victor knew it, Yuuri’s father was helping him get Victor up to a bed and settled onto the low flat cushions in a way that was at least somewhat comfortable. Phichit had stuck his head in as Yuuri was fluffing a pillow so Victor’s injury could be a bit more elevated and even his smile seemed soft and fond, like a younger brother should be.

 

“You staying with Victor?” he asked quietly.

 

Yuuri gave him a smile in return. “Did you really have to ask?”

 

“No. But you told Mama that we’d figure out the three rooms amongst ourselves and I wanted to make sure before I hogged the whole futon to myself.”

 

His eyes darted back to Victor and the small futon he laid upon, his lips easing into a thoughtful frown.

 

“Yuuri.”

 

He turned back to his friend.

 

“Don’t sleep against the wall. Or in a chair. Or on the floor. And don’t  _ not _ sleep.”

 

Yuuri deflated at that, frustrated all his thoughts had been so easily read, yet resigned to it yet again.

 

“Yuuri, please. I’ll sleep best with you, darling,” Victor said, reaching over to take his hand. 

 

He snorted out a laugh at that. “Great, you’ve teamed up on me and now I don’t stand a chance at trying to be self-sacrificing.”

 

Phichit grinned. “Won’t be the first and won’t be the last time, I’m sure. We might have just become friends, but I have a feeling when it comes to making sure you take care of yourself, we will be a deadly team.”

 

Victor gave Yuuri’s hand a placating pat. “Sorry, but he’s right. Just because I’m hurt doesn’t make me stop worrying about you.”

 

“Okay, I’ll sleep. On a futon. Both of you stop giving me that look.”

 

“Goodnight Victor, make sure Yuuri sleeps.”

 

“I will. Goodnight, Phichit.”

 

He turned to leave and Yuuri sighed before calling after him. “Phichit?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Thanks.”

 

Victor could hear his footsteps stop and come back. “What for?”

 

Yuuri was studying his hands, nervously twisting the ring on his finger.

 

“For understanding and letting Victor come home with us.”

 

Phichit came over then and knelt at Yuuri’s side, placing hand on his shoulder. “No. Thank you for putting up with me being so adamant about it. I just wanted to keep you safe.”

 

Yuuri gave him a smile at that. “I know. But… I’m just really glad we’re all together now.”

 

He ruffled Yuuri’s hair as he stood back up to go. “Me too. Psyche belongs with Eros after all.”

 

There was a feeble shove at Phichit’s legs as he laughed and darted out of Yuuri’s reach, both of them trying their best to glare at one another before giving up and laughing again. Finally, they both bid the other a good night and Yuuri turned back to Victor with a warm smile.

 

“You’re lucky to have such a good friend.”

 

Yuuri nodded. “I know.”

 

Quietly he stood and began pulling off excess bits of clothing, for although he’d changed from what Eros wore, there was still a coat and waistcoat to be removed before he was down to his undershirt and breeches. And last, he paused a moment before placing his ring upon his desk, looking at it after he sat it down with that thoughtfulness once more settling in his eyebrows.

 

“Yuuri?”

 

He turned and gave a brief smile. “I’m fine. I just thought I should probably get you something to drink. Your pain must be bothering you again by now,” Yuuri murmured, stopping to press a quick kiss to the top of Victor’s head before he disappeared out the door and back down the hallways towards the kitchen.

 

And though Victor had been kissed by him in so many places and ways, something about this one just completely undid him; gentle and domestic, not like just a lover but… like family. Like he truly cared about Victor’s wellbeing and wanted to do anything to make him feel at ease. The warmth swirled inside him at that, like a good drink during the cold of winter, settling into his bones as if it had been far too long since he’d felt that warmth last. Perhaps it had.

 

It wasn’t long before Yuuri returned, holding a small tea cup worn with age and far from any of the delicate ornate ones Victor had back in Sigrosk; for the only gold on this cup was in the cracks, as if it had shattered and been repaired.

 

Yuuri must have noticed how his fingertips paused to trace the pattern, for he settled down next to him and gave him a small smile.

 

“Victor?”

 

“I’ve never seen a cup like this…”

 

Yuuri’s hand reached out now, pressing against Victor’s as he too followed the flow of gold down along its course from the lip of the cup to the bottom. 

 

“It’s my favorite cup for a reason.”

 

Victor turned to him at that and there’s something vulnerable in his gaze, as if he saw a bit of himself reflected before him.

 

“Kintsugi… it repairs broken things with gold.”

 

He shifted his hand then, placing it atop Yuuri’s, and met his gaze; certain that there’s that same lost and scared boy hiding behind his own eyes. A boy who’d learned to hide imperfections behind a well placed smile and shattered glass behind charm. And Yuuri must understand, for he leaned over against him at that, breathing out as if there was a weight on his shoulders too.

 

And quietly, nary above a whisper, he finally spoke. 

 

“It reminds you even broken things can be beautiful. Maybe we were cowards, maybe we’ve been lost and broken, but we  _ survived. _ ”

 

Victor shifted the cup to his other hand and wrapped his arm around Yuuri’s back, pulling him closer; for although he didn’t know why Yuuri felt that way, he knew what feeling that way was like. And it was horrible and lonely and a fight against an enemy without a face or name.

 

“Why did you think you were a coward?” his words tumbled free, the question still lingering in his mind from when he’d said it earlier that night.

 

“Drink your tea,” he scolded, coaxing the cup upwards, and for a moment Victor thought he might not answer him.

 

But as he took a second drink, the taste of ginger strong, Yuuri spoke once more.

 

“Do you remember the invasion of Apulia?”

 

Victor’s thankful for the ginger now, for he could feel the bitterness in his throat at the memories.

 

“More than I’d like to.”

 

Yuuri shifted once more, as if moving helped him voice his thoughts better, and he stood a moment and paced before coming back to the other side of the futon and lifting up the cover with a question in his eyes. Victor nodded and he slid in next to him, urging him to drink down the last of the tea, before helping him onto his right side with his left elevated on pillows.

 

When he spoke now, it was so quiet Victor thought that if he wasn’t so close he’d not be able to hear it, but he could feel the tension in Yuuri’s chest grow as his words flowed out into the night.

 

“I had an… unusual childhood. My father came from a family of sake brewers, my mother from a family of seamstresses, and I ended up befriending a family friend who was one of the few remaining samurai.”

 

“Really? A real samurai?”

 

Yuuri chuckled at his excitement. “Well, by my standards, yes. But by some standards, a lady could not be one. But Minako-senpai was… outstanding. She might only work as a guard for some high ranking officials, but she taught me everything I know about justice and how to handle a sword.”

 

“So why a rapier then? That’s what you use now right?”

 

He tapped Victor on the nose. “I’ll get to it, be patient.”

 

But there was a wistfulness to his eyes as he blinked up at the ceiling, fond memories mingling now with frustrations.

 

“By the time I was sixteen, Minako-senpai had taught me not just the swords of Yamato but those of the neighboring world as well. She and I were part of a delegation that petitioned the shogunate to go to Apulia for help.”

 

Victor remembered now that first letter from the Vermilion Rose, remembered how he’d felt then that this was someone who was guilty about the invasion. It didn’t exactly make him happy to find out he was right.

 

“They didn’t just refuse, they claimed our investment in foreign affairs was against the code; they stripped us of our titles because we’d dared try and help someone but them.”

 

He gently swept his fingers through Yuuri’s hair, hoping his soft caress might even by a little ease the pain these memories brought with them.

 

“Minako-senpai went and helped as best as she could, but she didn’t want me to risk exile like they’d threatened us with if we did help. She had to live abroad after… until the merchants overthrew the shogunate three years ago.”

 

“Yuuri, you’re not a coward for trying to do something and being stopped.”

 

He let out a derisive laugh at that and Victor could see the pain flicker through his eyes.

 

“No that’s… that’s just what caused it, not why.”

 

For a moment, Yuuri seemed to be fighting an internal battle, a range of emotions briefly surfacing in his eyes or in the curl of his lips; but he took a deep breath and gave Victor such a painfully heartbreaking smile that he almost felt like he’d been stabbed once more for how deep an ache it gave him.

 

“Yuuri, if you don’t want to…”

 

He closed his eyes, hand shaking as he reached up to take hold of Victor’s; and as if it was a tether to which he held on for dear life, he clutched it tight and pushed the words from his lips.

 

“I felt so guilty and lost I just… and when I heard how many were executed... I almost took my own life.”

 

Yuuri winced then, as if fearful that Victor might shove him away, and Victor’s heart broke all over again; his arms closing around him and holding him as tight as the pain in his chest allowed.

 

“Oh my darling…”

 

He could feel the damp trail of tears that had begun to fall against his collarbone and for one brief moment, Victor was uncertain if they’re Yuuri’s or his own; but he knew then more than anything, that he must dredge up his own dark fears and speak them out, for God how lucky they were, broken, beautiful things, to find one another after a time so bleak?

 

“I had hoped no one but I had suffered that pain,” Victor murmured quietly, his lips brushing against Yuuri’s temple.

 

Yuuri pulled back at that, those brown eyes drowning in shame, and he saw the truth echoed in Victor’s own eyes; disbelief, slowly, finally, coming around to that same sorrow that resided now in Victor’s chest at knowing someone he loved so dearly had suffered so much.

 

“When?” he choked out, voice seeming lost to the past.

 

“After my father made me watch him execute seventeen innocent people who were only fighting to save their homeland. Christophe barely got the doctor in time.”

 

His arms were around Victor’s neck in a heartbeat, his lips brushing those tears that had slipped down his cheeks away, and he held him tight as if he were that gold trying to put all those broken pieces back together again. Victor clung to him in return, hoping that he too might be golden enough to repair Yuuri’s broken heart.

 

They didn’t speak for what seemed like hours, even if only minutes had gone by; the soft cadence of their heartbeats bringing Victor an unspeakable calm that he thought must be wrapping Yuuri too in its embrace, for they both began to breathe steadily once more. 

 

“You’re not a coward, Victor,” Yuuri managed, his voice regaining its usual strength word by word. “You’ve had to be so brave and strong for so long.”

 

“So have you,” he replied, reaching up to cradle Yuuri’s cheek in his hand. “And I’m so proud of you, darling.”

 

Yuuri smiled back, his forehead pressing against Victor’s as he brought his hand up to cup Victor’s face. “And I couldn’t be prouder of you, my brave handsome prince.”

 

Like liquid gold, those words poured themselves into his heart and mended all the shattered pieces back into a whole; for never had he wanted to be anyone’s prince like he did this very moment. And perhaps his own words flowed golden into Yuuri’s veins, for they drifted together into a kiss tender and adoring, only parting when they must, and when they did the same three words spilled from their lips.

 

“I love you.”

 

* * *

 

In retrospect, it had probably been May when he realized he’d fallen in love with Leo.

 

The arrival of a man from Arawak was incredibly uncommon in Yamato, and of course when the wise old silkworm farmer that lived nearby Guang Hong’s place in Okutama introduced the two, it had been with a twinkle in his eyes and a warm laugh that surely the two strange foreigners would get along well. They’d spent most of that winter trading stories about their home countries and teaching Leo the quirks of Yamato culture; and by spring, Leo’s presence in Guang Hong’s garden was as welcome as the sun itself.  

 

Iwatu-san taught him everything he could before illness finally took hold, Leo now entrusted with a legacy that he thought he wasn’t going to be able to live up to; but just like his already thriving bee colonies that he’d brought with him, the silkworms too flourished under his care. And by the late spring, Guang Hong’s affections for him had begun to blossom into something bolder than friendship.

 

At the time he’d planted them, it had been with a secret hope that if he brought a little of Arawak to Yamato then perhaps Leo might stay a little bit longer; for although he found joy in his gardens, he was still missing something in his life that only Leo came close to filling.

 

Now they’d bloomed, bright and vibrant reds and pinks and yellows and whites, all of the little flowers smiling up at the sunshine; the trouble he’d gone to in order to acquire the seeds all completely worth it for the look of surprise on Leo’s face on seeing the little cosmos flower spilling across the flower beds between his and Guang Hong’s property. 

 

Guang Hong did his best to try and play it cool, standing up from where he’d been trimming some of the top heavy stems free; a handful of the little blooms clutched in his hand.

 

“Surprise?” he murmured quietly, stepping over to Leo’s side.

 

His arms were around him in an instant, the shock enough that he tumbled back and took Leo down with him, both of them landing in the sea of yellow ginko and mulberry leaves that blanketed the grass with laughter spilling from their lips.

 

“When did you plant these?” Leo asked, his eyes shining as he rolled to the side.

 

Guang Hong picked up the cut flowers that had fallen, idly weaving them together as he spoke; which was incredibly hard given that Leo surrounded by the yellow leaves around him looked like sunshine incarnate.

 

“May.”

 

Leo’s eyebrows went up at that and Guang Hong wondered if perhaps he understood just why he’d planted them. 

 

“Mexica asters, in my own backyard, all because the sweetest gardener in the world knew how much I missed seeing them.”

 

“I’m glad we didn’t miss their first bloom, what with everything going on.”

 

His expression became thoughtful at that, Leo’s eyes focusing on something far off in the skies above.

 

“Guang Hong?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Are you… after all this is over, are you going to be happy settling back down as a gardener?”

 

He stared and Leo quickly continued.

 

“I can tell how much you love all this, the excitement and the adventure, and sometimes I worry that when it ends you’ll have to go find adventure elsewhere.”

 

Guang Hong laid back again beside him, his hand drifting over to meet Guang Hong’s halfway and their fingers twined together. It was true he’d had thoughts late at night, wondering if he could go back to a normal life after a taste of what he’d been yearning for so long; but Leo didn’t seem to realize that even if he did go to chase after a new dream, he’d want Leo with him.

 

“Would you be happy?” Guang Hong countered.

 

Leo turned to him at that, his smile hesitant before that flash of confidence settled in his eyes.

 

“No. Because you wouldn’t be.”

 

“Leo.”

 

“That’s why I made a decision for us.”

 

Guang Hong’s heart did a flip-flop at that simple little  _ us, _ and he rolled towards Leo with a bright smile.

 

“Seems like you have a surprise for me too.”

 

Leo’s cheeks went a bit pink at that and Guang Hong found himself moving closer, the leaves crunching beneath them.

 

“I was thinking… maybe since we both have so much free time during winter, we should go somewhere in the Southern Hemisphere it’s summer. Like my family’s ranch back in Arawak? They could always use a few extra hands for the cattle drive, and I happen to know you’d be more than willing to chase off bandits or coyotes when they show up.”

 

“There’s bandits?” he asked, unable to hide the excitement in his voice.

 

“Every year,” Leo replied with a chuckle. “I figure you could teach them a lesson or two.”

 

Guang Hong leaned his forehead forward until it pressed against Leo’s, his heart already racing in excitement and happiness.

 

“When do we leave?”

 

“December. I hope everything with Larussia and Apulia will be settled by then and we’ll be back by spring here for the flowers and the bees and the silkworms.”

 

He pecked a firm kiss to Leo’s lips at that, his heart full; somehow Leo knew just what he needed, not to leave his current profession but to have something exciting now and then to keep it interesting.

 

“Thank you,” Guang Hong murmured quietly. “You have no idea how happy you’ve made me.”

 

Leo nuzzled his nose against his, his hands coming up to cup his face. “I’m glad.”

 

They lay on their bed of leaves, smiling at one another, Guang Hong’s fingers idly threading through Leo’s hair and Leo’s thumb tracing across the freckles on his cheeks. After what felt like hours, they spoke up once more, their words tangling together like their fingers already had.

 

“How are you both so adorable and handsome at the same time?”

 

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?”

 

They blinked, a blush rising to both their cheeks, before they both shyly began to smile.

 

Phichit found them about an hour later, Leo now wearing a crown made from the flowers Guang Hong had picked and both of them throwing handfuls of leaves at one another when they weren’t sneaking kisses while the leaves fluttered to the ground around them. 

 

* * *

 

Victor woke to the gentle caress of fingers threading through his hair, and although his chest ached painfully and he felt woefully short of breath, it was still perhaps the happiest he’d ever awoken; fluttering his eyes open to find those warm brown eyes gazing at him with utter adoration.

 

“Good morning beautiful,” Victor managed, his voice far too croaky and strained to sound romantic, but he supposed it was the thought that counted.

 

Yuuri started, as if momentarily surprised to see him awake, before a hesitant smile surfaced on his lips. “I fell asleep after crying for about twenty minutes, I am most definitely not beautiful this morning,” he argued.

 

Victor shook his head. “Do you think I’m beautiful right now?”

 

“Of course,” he answered without a moment’s pause.

 

He reached out a hand at that, cupping Yuuri’s cheek in his palm. “Well, I too fell asleep after many tears were shed; and I do believe I was stabbed earlier that day as well, so if I’m beautiful right now, then you surely are.”

 

Yuuri opened his mouth and then closed it once more, a frown tugging at his lips.

 

“What’s wrong darling?”

 

There was a soft sigh and he shifted, as if he felt like he was troubling Victor by being so close, and Victor brought his thumb down to trace across his lips.

 

“Yuuri?”

 

“I suppose I’m just… worried,” he answered with a heavy sigh. “About you. About… us.”

 

“Us?”

 

“Y-you do remember everything after you were stabbed, right? Like who I am? A-and what I told you last night?”

 

_ Oh _ how Victor understood now, for often had he held that same fear in his heart about everyone in his life; do they really like me or do they just like the mask I wear? It was quite a burden and mixed with his worries about Victor’s health, it was obvious now why he seemed so troubled.

 

He made a move to sit up, but Yuuri stopped him; quickly sitting up himself and then helping Victor follow suit. But when he did so, he also put some distance between them, those eyes so hesitant and wary; the idea that the dream had ended clear in his tense posture.

 

“Yuuri,” he spoke with heavy emphasis on the name, “I may have gotten stabbed, but my memory is quite clear.”

 

Victor put his arms around Yuuri’s neck, drawing him closer.

 

“I may also, perhaps, understand more than you are aware, my dearest Yuuri. For I’m always worrying myself that no one actually likes me, the  _ real _ me, but simply finds the Victor I’ve presented them with acceptable.”

 

“Who wouldn’t like you?”

 

“I ask myself that about you, be you Yuuri the tailor or Eros the hero, there is absolutely nothing there not to like. Nay, to love.”

 

A blush bloomed on his cheeks then, that warmth sparking dimly again in his eyes, and Victor brought his hand up to cup that cheek and sweep his finger across where so many tears had fallen the night before.

 

“Sorry. I just…”

 

Victor settled a finger on his lips.

 

“It’s hard to believe that something in your life so utterly wonderful is real, isn’t it?”

 

His eyes went wide and Victor gave him a shy smile.

 

“We two may be cut of a more similar cloth than perhaps you know, darling. If I wasn’t in such pain, I’d be pinching myself to try and believe I woke up with you in my arms.”

 

That spark had built itself up to a burning glow now, Yuuri’s fingers gently sweeping the bangs from Victor’s face as he replied with a smile.

 

“Thank you. It just seems too good to be true.”

 

Victor gave his cheek a light pinch and after a moment of surprise, Yuuri’s eyes brightened into a fiery shine, laughter spilling off his lips.

 

“Okay, okay! Let me go get you something for your pain now that you’ve gotten rid of mine.”

 

He clung a bit tighter at that, their noses brushing together; for he too felt that momentary worry lingering on his mind. 

 

“Yuuri, did you always know I was Psyche?”

 

Yuuri blinked, a blush spreading a bit across his cheeks as he darted his eyes away.

 

“Um… well, I hoped?”

 

“When did you know?”

 

Brown eyes came back to meet his gaze at that, that fire now a steady blaze.

 

“The moment you kissed me, I knew.”

 

Victor was certain a blush must have appeared on his face at that, for his heart’s little somersault made him feel like he was warm all over with a pleasant happiness.

 

“Really?”

 

Yuuri nodded, shyly, before continuing. “Then… in the hayloft, you um…” he reached up a hand at that and gently danced fingers over Victor’s left shoulder. “You have a dusting of light freckles here that I noticed when I did your measurements, and I doubted anyone else would have the exact same ones.”

 

Victor kissed him at that, slow and languid, as if trying to communicate all that he felt in his heart that he knew he could never put into words, all the fears he’d had that Yuuri would be disappointed in him now gone for good; and this time when he pulled back a bit breathless, it was at least for good reason.

 

“See. No mask and I’m still thoroughly smitten.”

 

And Yuuri about tackled him back with the force of his passionate kiss in return, his arms coming up to support Victor’s back as he wordlessly shared his heart in reply.

 

They parted when they must, Victor’s chest still not full of enough air to allow him to kiss Yuuri as long as he’d like, but now Yuuri’s glow had spread from his eyes over his whole face, relief mingling with pure joy; a joy that Victor was certain was reflected in his own eyes.

 

He pressed a quick kiss to Victor’s forehead before beginning to stand, only pausing when Victor refused to let go.

 

“Victor, please let me go get you something for your pain. All my worries won’t be gone until I know you’re better, okay love?”

 

The word slipped free and Yuuri appeared momentarily embarrassed by it, but Victor’s wide smile must have assured him that if anything, it had made him feel much better already.

 

“If you must, darling. But hurry back.”

 

Finally, he reluctantly let go, only fully understanding how severe his pain was once Yuuri was no longer in his arms to distract him from it; and Yuuri returned quickly with more ginger tea and a damp cloth which he used to wipe the cold sweat from his forehead.

 

And as Victor drank the tea and let Yuuri fuss over his bandages, he let a warmth settle over the pain; for nothing was better medicine for him right now than the knowledge that such a beautiful and wonderful man still cared about him so much despite all the flaws he’d let show.

 

* * *

 

It was a strange feeling, to be loved.

 

Not the love of family or friendship, where flaws are to be expected and easily overlooked, for Yuuri had that love around him even if he was often surprised by its presence; but the love that one person holds solely for one other, in which they could pick from thousands of other people who seem better choices but for some inexplicable reason, they’ve chosen you-  _ that _ kind of love.

 

The love of family was what allowed them to sleep way too late, by Yuuri’s standards and need to accomplish far more things than the hours of a single day could hold; the love of friends being Phichit excusing himself to take a walk just so Yuuri could be alone with Victor a little bit longer despite them already spending so many hours together. 

 

And Victor’s love, well, there was so much of it that Yuuri could not count it all without becoming overwhelmed by it once more and finding himself in a swoon of emotion that could drown him if he let it; for not only had the man accepted Yuuri’s duality, shy tailor and dashing hero somehow all but one part of a whole, but he’d taken in the knowledge of Yuuri’s darkest secrets with open arms and tears of understanding. Yuuri had laid hours awake that morning incapable of comprehending that any of it was real and when he’d voiced that as if to give Victor one more chance to see the mistake he’d made, he was met by that all-encompassing love once more.

 

Victor was like a bottle corked tight of the finest of wines, left to keep that love held closely and secretly in his heart lest his father suspect kindness of him, which upon finally opening years later was soft and gentle with not a single hard edge to him; and the love that had already begun in Yuuri’s heart for Victor was now drunk with rich emotion on all the facets he was now just discovering. 

 

The Victor who was adamant that he’d keep trying at using the chopsticks to pick up each single piece of rice one at a time until he’d mastered the art, the Victor who wanted to know everything that Mari could tell him about how sake was made simply because he was curious as to how it worked, the Victor who absolutely insisted on helping Mama clean up the dishes despite being severely injured because he wanted to do  _ something _ to repay their kindness; here was a man of grand gestures and love who’d been kept inside a castle and told to hide it all behind a mask of indifference. Now, like a bird set free from its cage, he soared with a song on his lips and joy in his heart; his wings spread as wide as he could, savoring the freedom he was given.

 

He sat now beside Yuuri in his workshop, both of them surrounded by fabric as Victor worked on mending those garments with simple repairs needed so Yuuri could focus on the intricate embroidery and assembly of them. Yuuri had tried to argue that he should be in bed resting, but he’d come to understand that perhaps the best medicine Victor could have right now was freedom to do as he pleased as long as it wasn’t something too strenuous; for it at least kept him blissfully distracted from the pain that was no doubt still afflicting him. 

 

Guang Hong and Leo had sent Phichit back from his walk with a bottle full of willow bark tea, flavored to be less bitter, to help Victor with his pain; but he was still coughing up blood from time to time and his shortness of breath had only gotten slightly better. Yuuri’d made him promise on his honor that if anything felt remotely worse he’d let him know immediately so they could procure a doctor, for that had partially been his intent in bringing him to Yamato, counting on the likelihood that most doctors would not recognize the Larussian prince; but after a few hours with Yuuri just quietly talking and sewing and stealing kisses from time to time, he professed that if anything he was feeling much better.

 

Love, he proclaimed, was surely the medicine that would heal him heart and soul and bayonet stab wound completely.

 

“So what type of stitch did you use on me?” he’d inquired after asking about Yuuri’s technique on his current project of a heavily embellished coat.

 

“A glover’s stitch,” Yuuri replied, looking up from his work to find Victor staring down at his chest. With the loose shirt they’d put him in, he could even see the red thread through the white linen. 

 

“I should learn that one. It might come in handy.”

 

For a moment, Yuuri thought that there was absolutely no way that Victor, prince of Larussia, had just made such a terrible joke; but there was something twinkling in his eyes as he said it that put all those doubts to rest. 

 

Yuuri laughed. It started out as a simple huff, almost in disbelief, before it slowly grew; bubbling out of him in giggles until he was clutching his sides from the strain. 

 

“That… “ he managed in between gasps of air, “was terrible.”

 

Victor smiled as if proud of himself. “But I made you laugh. And my mother said that’s the best medicine for worry. Laughter.”

 

Even now when he was short of breath and surely aching, he was trying to distract Yuuri from that thread of worry that was tangling itself up with more worries in the back of his mind; and perhaps, as he had been all day, he fell a little more in love with Victor for his boundless compassion as he smiled over at him, fond and yes, very smitten.

 

He tucked his needle into the fabric and leaned across the space between them to wrap his arms around Victor’s neck and tug him closer; pressing a kiss to his cheek and then another a bit further down on his neck, finally brushing his lips in a gentle kiss on the fabric right over that red thread.

 

“Yuuri…”

 

If Victor could believe so wholeheartedly that Yuuri’s love was his saving grace, if that gave him even the smallest of comforts, then Yuuri could supply him with that medicine as long as he lived and be more than happy to do so.

 

“Is that not an Amorican thing? To kiss something better?” he asked quietly.

 

Victor smiled with all the warmth a Larussian was not supposed to have. “Do you not do that in Yamato?”

 

Yuuri shook his head. “No ours is a bit different.”

 

“While I will not turn down more kisses, I must admit I’m willing to try anything at this point that might help me heal faster.”

 

He dipped his head at that, suddenly shy, for it seemed a bit silly; but Victor’s gaze was so gentle and fond that he found himself taking a deep breath and pushing his embarrassment to the back of his mind.

 

“Well, in Yamato,” and Yuuri reached out at this to place his hand lightly over Victor’s injury, “it’s almost like a magic spell? You place a hand over the injury and then…”

 

He concentrated the way Mama or Mari always did when Yuuri was little, as if he was truly casting a magic charm.

 

“Itaino itaino tondeke!” Yuuri chanted and on the last word he threw his hand up in the air as if he really was telling the pain to fly away.

 

The embarrassment resurfaced at that, Yuuri feeling ridiculous at doing such a thing in the presence of a prince; yet Victor simply leaned forward to embrace him as if truly touched by his actions.

 

“Thank you,” he murmured in Yuuri’s ear. “Considering how well your other charms have worked upon my heart, I’m certain this one will work its magic as well.”

 

He couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh at that. “What charms?”

 

Victor pulled back with a theatrical pout. “Don’t play humble with me, mister  _ Eros _ . I’ve seen that roguish charm of yours at work and why, I’ve even fallen prey to it like the innocent damsel I am!”

 

He must have sensed another protest from him, for Victor was quick to continue.

 

“Climbing in my tower? Seducing me in libraries? Why my poor delicate heart stood not a single chance, I’ve been destined to fall madly in love with you from the moment we met!”

 

And although he’d certainly embellished the details, the basic stitchwork still laid out the same story underneath it all; somehow, despite thinking the name ill-suited at first, Eros was indeed a fitting nickname for him to take. Why he’d even looked up the stories about Psyche, only vaguely familiar with them, and even they harkened back to their relationship perhaps more than even Victor had realized.

 

For Yuuri had, like Eros, surely pricked himself with his own arrow the moment he set foot in that library at the Emperor’s Ball and found himself inexplicably enamored with the kind-hearted prince who had come to warn him. Why, Eros too feared Psyche discovering his true nature and it was only after an almost deadly trial that she finally was reunited with her love.

 

Yuuri swept his fingers through Victor’s hair, tracing along the top of his ear before settling his hand alongside his neck and gently cradling his chin in his hand.

 

“My loyal Psyche, how lucky I am that you finally made it back to me.”

 

Victor’s cheeks blushed a pretty pink at that and with a coy little smile, he replied.

 

“There’s my Eros. Even without your mask, I still recognize that charm.”

 

Somehow, although he was honestly at a loss as to how it happened, Yuuri no longer needed that mask to say or do what he wanted to without worry; somehow, that confident fire had stayed lit and was still burning strong in his veins even now.

 

He trailed his thumb across Victor’s lips and knew now why he parted them so breathlessly as if he couldn’t wait for what came next; for Yuuri was a dashing and confident hero who had done so many great things, was an accomplished tailor who emperors and kings called upon for his skill, and  _ of course _ someone might be very much charmed by that. 

 

Somehow, in Victor’s boundless outpouring of love, he’d found a way to remind Yuuri that he needed to love himself too.

 

“May I kiss you better?” he asked, teasingly; inwardly cringing how embarrassing it seemed but somehow going through with it anyways. 

 

Victor wrapped his hands up around Yuuri’s neck and practically sighed out the answer.

 

“Pretty please?”

 

And with such a great warmth inside, the mingling of so much love wrapping his heart in layers of affection, he did just that; both of them melting into one another’s embrace as they kissed until breathless, then lingering close and just basking in the feeling of such a wondrous love as if they could never get enough of it.

 

Two birds set free of the cages that held them back, now able to dance upon the sky with the utmost joy in the love that had given them wings.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> papillote curls: papillotes (butterfly curls) make little ringlets which, during the 18th century, were often teased into towering hairstyles on wigs.
> 
> In Japanese culture, they don't do the whole "I'll kiss it better" thing the same way we do here. Instead, they say いたいのいたいの飛んでけ~」(itaino itaino tondeke~) which means "pain, pain, go/fly away". Placing one hand on the injured part, you then move the hand away to make it like you are throwing it away when we say "go away."


	12. A Prince Among Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for all the lovely comments and messages I've received about this story! It makes me so glad to know that you're enjoying it!

He had thought it was just Phichit being polite and knocking lest he disturb something private. In fact, Yuuri himself would have answered the door had he not been surrounded by about six yards of delicate chiffon fabric that could be torn if he stepped on it. 

 

Instead he was seated, still surrounded, while Victor went to the door and answered. There was a brief pause, then slowly two voices collided as they spoke simultaneously.

 

“Your highness?”

 

“Your majesty?”

 

Yuuri whipped his head up immediately and felt his heart seize at realizing that the golden clad spectacle at the door was none other than Emperor Minami himself. He swore and began to shove chiffon out of the way.

 

Minami looked from Victor, probably noticing his loose shirt, without even a proper waistcoat, and breeches, to Yuuri, who had most likely gone about as pink as the chiffon he was warring with, and a hint of a blush crept onto Minami’s face. “I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”

 

“No!” Yuuri managed to gasp out, wading through so much silk and taffeta and all the trimmings for this blasted dress, that was clearly not an outfit he was making for the prince, about tripping on a stool that was so buried by the fabric he didn’t see it.

 

Minami glanced over at Victor and even Yuuri could hear his not so subtle whisper, “I thought there might be something between you two at the ball…”

 

Finally, Yuuri made it to the door, not remotely helping his case by reaching out to steady himself against Victor. He forced a smile at the emperor.

 

“Emperor Minami, I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t know I was to be expecting you.”

 

He glanced to the doorframe, his smile wavering. “Might I come in? There’s a few unfamiliar faces in the inn that I don’t believe you want to overhear things. And...”

 

His eyes now went to Victor, and Yuuri took a deep breath. It really wasn’t his place to justify Victor’s presence here, but at the same time saying nothing left possibly worse implications that could easily become rumors.

 

“I’ll explain in a moment. Victor can stay.”

 

Minami’s eyebrow arched up at that, disappearing under his blond bangs that it appeared he’d now dyed partially red with henna. Well, that would certainly explain the southern Adelasian fashion as well; the golden coat closed at the neck with a mandarin collar and hanging longer than Amorican fashions with loose fitting red pants underneath. 

 

“Are you certain? I must speak to you about some pretty sensitive matters.”

 

Yuuri huffed out a sigh. “He knows, Emperor. He knows, was almost mortally wounded helping me, and now we’re hiding him here so he can heal without his father noticing.”

 

A look of relief crossed the young boy’s features at that, a genuine smile finally surfacing. “I’m very glad to hear that, not… not the injured part, I’m sorry you’re unwell your highness, but…”

 

His eyes drifted from Victor to Yuuri and then back, that smile almost brighter now. “I would have hated your story to stay star-crossed and tragic.”

 

Needing to do something to keep his mind from the massive amounts of embarrassment that flared up with a vengeance, Yuuri turned to unearth a chair from the fabric before offering it to the emperor. Minami started for it before pausing and holding out a hand to Victor.

 

“Almost mortally wounded? I have to admit, I’m a bit curious as to the story behind that one.”

 

Victor offered him a courteous nod as he accepted his hand. “It’s the least I could do for my people. Thankfully, Yuuri was there to save me.”

 

“He’s absolutely wonderful, isn’t he?” Minami gushed. “Did you hear about the time your brother tried to trick him? That one’s my favorite.”

 

He laughed at that, only pausing when it seemed to bother his injury. “I heard that one from my brother, and I must admit, I too found it most enjoyable to hear about.”

 

Yuuri realized with a jolt that having Minami, who had finally weaseled the truth about his identity out of him with promises of funding to help aid his mission, with Victor meant that if he didn’t interrupt them soon it could easily turn into another one of those awkward conversations where Minami complimented him and he didn’t know how to react without looking impolite.

 

“What’s this urgent news, Emperor? I can see you’ve been traveling.”

 

Thankfully, he came and took the chair at that, now distracted by all the shiny details on his own outfit. 

 

“Yes, I just got back from Sindhu.”

 

Yuuri blinked, exchanging a confused look with Victor, and Minami quickly clarified.

 

“The southern provinces of Zhoungguo finally earned their freedom yesterday. This is a gift from their new leader for Yamato being the first to recognize their independence.”

 

He’d only been able to keep partial tabs on the revolution to the east of Yamato, far too caught up in Apulia’s own to the west; for at least they had a military and actual soldiers for the fighting rather than Apulia which was making do with the common people.

 

“Wow, that’s great,” he replied, finally digging out another chair and offering it to Victor. “I really like their fashion; it’s almost a dash of Amorican with an Adelasian base. The silk from that region is always such great quality too.”

 

Minami nodded. It was always easier to talk to him about fashion trends rather than the indepth politics of other countries; the boy was trying, but he was young and with the opening of Yamato’s trade routes to the world he already had so much to bear.

 

“I may have you make me another one for the upcoming masquerade ball. The Sindhu government gifted us a lot of fabric that I know you could make something amazing with!”

 

Yuuri gave him a sheepish smile. “Sorry, which ball is this? I don’t remember having one on my schedule any time soon.”

 

Minami sat up a little straighter at that, as if he too had suddenly remembered why he was there. “Oh that’s right, you wouldn’t know yet. Larussia is holding a masquerade ball next Friday. Very last minute, but they’ve invited me and… any companion of my choosing that I feel is worthy to attend.”

 

Even without Minami’s intonation, Yuuri immediately saw the trap for what it was; so Demyan was going to try and get the Vermilion Rose to show up at his party? Then what? 

 

“I should say that it is last minute, why I’ve not even heard of this until now,” Victor spoke up, “but I think we all know why the sudden decision.”

 

The emperor nodded. “He hopes I’ll invite the Vermilion Rose as my guest, being too stupid to see it’s a trap for Yuuri and making him come by obligation.”

 

“Yuuri, you don’t have to come. It’s not a requirement,” Victor replied, already turning and reaching out for him with that worry settling in his brow. 

 

But Yuuri’s mind was already thinking, how could he turn this trap onto the person who created it? How could he use it to help Apulia? There had to be a way!

 

“Yuuri,” Minami spoke once more and he looked up to him. “I also received word from our two traveling friends. They’ve got…  _ something _ .” 

 

And this, this he knew why Minami hesitated on speaking of in front of Victor; it was one thing to trust him a little, but plotting to overthrow his father might cross a line. 

 

But if they found something, something noteworthy enough that even Minami was risking speaking about it now, that meant then they already had a way to close the trap once it was sprung.

 

Yuuri took Victor’s offered hand and gave it a gentle pat, hoping he could understand that this was a risk he must take for Apulia’s sake. “I’ve got to go, Victor.”

 

“But my father is clearly trying to…”

 

“I know,” Yuuri interjected, stepping closer to him as if he could soothe his worries just by being near. “I know it’s a trap. But I’ve already turned one trap on a Larussian royal and I think this time I can do it again.”

 

Minami’s eyes sparkled with wonder, his excitement palpable in the air as he replied, “Really? You already figured something out? Does this mean I get to help?”

 

Yuuri nodded. Why he’d have to come along, he was the ruler of Yamato and Yuuri would just be his guest of honor; but the emperor’s excitement found itself overshadowed by the fear that was clear in Victor’s entire posture and expression.

 

“Yuuri, this is incredibly dangerous. You would be completely outnumbered and unarmed and…”

 

And not caring if the emperor saw, he turned then to reach down and take Victor’s face into his hand, trying with everything to convey to him that he must do this.

 

“I have you,” he stated. “I might not be able to have Phichit or Leo or Guang Hong with me, but even if you cannot lift a finger to help me, just having you there will give me all the fight I’ll need, Victor. This is our one perfect chance to tip the scales. I’d be a coward to turn my back on this opportunity.”

 

Victor heard that word and immediately understanding fell over him; he knew Yuuri wouldn’t leverage the word coward unless he was absolutely serious, for he knew what the alternative would be.

 

“If he tries to harm you, I can’t promise I won’t try and help,” he spoke, voice quiet and thick with emotion; his hesitancy about their relationship in front of Minami now an afterthought. “Not because I don’t trust you, but because I fear I’ll move before I even think to stop it.”

 

That Yuuri understood; why when he’d seen Victor speared by that bayonet, he moved before he could even think of the danger he was putting himself in.

 

“Then we’ll do our best to try and make sure you’re not put in that position.”

 

It fell silent a moment between them, the air thick with tension like a storm brewing and crackling with lightning waiting to strike; it made Yuuri itch with the need to do something and unable to spy his needle amongst the piles of fabric, he went to Victor instead, wrapping his arms around his head and holding it against his lower chest.

 

“If the emperor is involved, the advisors will have to get some of our military involved, so I’m not going at this alone. I know Minako-senpai would be there in a heartbeat and just because they cannot attend the ball proper doesn’t mean the others won’t be there working for our cause. I will take every single precaution, Victor. I promise.”

 

Victor exhaled at that, his voice shuddering a little at the force with his injury, and he wrapped his arms around Yuuri’s waist and held him tight.

 

“I’ll see what I can do to help without my father noticing. Christophe too will help with anything we ask of him. Just… be safe. I’d be so lost without you.”

 

And with those words, the lightning struck Yuuri right to the core.

 

He pressed a kiss to the top of his head, no longer caring if anyone saw, and gently carded his fingers through Victor’s hair; his voice just as thick as he replied.

 

“You have my word, Victor. I’ll cheat death itself if that’s what it takes.”

 

* * *

 

Simply put, Sara looked like a goddess cast from bronze in the waning sunlight; standing amongst the ruins of the ancient Apulian city once known as Heraclea Minoa with her hair and white dress billowing in the ocean breeze.

 

They’d gathered in what remained of an amphitheatre, people from as far west as Eryx and Verafrum and as far south as Daedalium, all gathering as soon as there was word of where next to meet. Word had spread like wildfire that one of the Vermilion Rose had fallen to the Larussian soldiers, and it was as if a fire had been lit across all of Apulia in their honor. 

 

Sara stood like a beacon in her dress of off-white, a bouquet of small red roses tucked at the center of her bust standing out like a heart against the white of her laces and neckerchief, the wide rectangular skirts flowing open to show the delicate embroidered flowers upon her skirt and underskirt. And even though she assured them that despite what the Larussians had hoped, to her knowledge the five brave men who dared were still alive and well despite suffering great injury, the spirit of the people had been incensed to act and reclaim Limisa for the people of Apulia.

 

Mila watched with pride as she spoke before them, her voice ringing out like a bell, crystal clear throughout the crowd; everyone hanging on each and every word. This one was for brave Psyche who had come so close to death so the Dewhurst family could be spared, this one was for brave Agape who had taken a shot to the shoulder to protect his friends, this one was for every single person in Limisa whose entire livelihood had been burnt to the ground by men too heartless to spare them any dignity.

 

They would march through the vineyards, entering not by any road that might be guarded, and once in the city there would be far too many of them for all the soldiers of Velia to handle. Don’t provoke, don’t aim to kill aim to disarm and disable; even now Sara spoke of these villains with the respect and humanity they never spared her or her people. Even now, after everything else, she was determined to win this with love, not violence. 

 

And as Sara began them forward, the group following behind as if in a procession on a holy day, Mila slipped through the people to her side and took her hand that shook with all the fears she wasn’t letting show. She would walk into the fire before she let harm come to her people, but her bravery had been so shaken by one noble act by one very surprising ally.

 

Of all the people in all the world, never had Sara expected any Larussian to give them aid; for even those that called themselves Larussian weren’t really, they were Moravians, Silesians, Boshchekulians. They were also a people who had been forced under Larussia’s banner while their blood, their heritage, was not of those who came to conquer and kill. But a Larussian, a true Larussian, was a diamond in the rough; a near impossibility in her countless calculations of who could be trusted and who might give help of any kind. Yet there he was, crown prince of Larussia, who had been brought to Mila’s home with Yuuri’s plea to give him shelter.

 

And even if Sara didn’t trust Yuuri like a brother the way Mila did, she knew the rumors about what happened spoke of the same events that Yuuri told them in near tears; still desperate for Victor to even regain consciousness after what he’d risked so bravely. Mila could see the wariness in her eyes even as they entered the room once he was awake, that fear that this might be all an elaborate trap to send another Crispino to their grave.

 

But he’d apologized, profusely by the time he’d left; and he’d taken her hands in his own that still shook due to the trauma he’d endured and promised her he would do everything in his power to help her take back her country for her people.

 

Mila could tell after they’d departed and Santa Lucia was safely their own once more, that Sara kept coming back to that exchange and kept trying to wrap her mind around it; the impossibility now a reality that she needed to come to terms with before she could keep fighting. They’d sat on the docks far past dark, watching the moonlight over the ocean, and Sara asked quietly after quite some time if Mila believed in miracles.

 

“Why?” she’d replied, unsure what had brought the question to her mind.

 

“Because I feel Prince Victor needs one right now and I hope it’s granted to him.”

 

They’d had no word as of yet, it had only been half a day since he’d been injured, but in the set of her jaw and the fire of her eyes, Mila could tell it was weighing on her. She wanted no one to die for this cause, and if the one to do so was to be a Larussian prince risking perhaps more than all of them? Why no wonder it had shaken her so thoroughly.

 

It was that strange undercurrent in her veins that did it, turning the usually calm and poised smile into a firmly set frown; and by the time they made it into the city and encountered the first of the guard, the lioness was ready to strike.

 

“No assembling. You know the rules!” one of them yelled, garnering the attention of their commander.

 

He turned, eyes like daggers, as he singled out the leader of the bunch; he lifted his rifle and took aim.

 

“Surrender now, Sara Crispino, or I’ll send you to join your little friend in the river.”

 

Like a strange brew, where the ingredients have been changed only slightly, but still significantly, Sara packed an unexpected punch; her movements faster than even Mila had seen of her and so swift that she easily ducked under the rifle and slammed her fist into his face before he could blink.

 

The commander went skidding to the ground hard and Sara, looking like a wrathful goddess in white, eyed the other three with a look that asked them if they wanted to try next.

 

The three of them fumbled for their rifles, slow and clumsy enough that Mila was easily there to snatch it from one’s hands, and she used it then to slam right under the chins of the remaining two, sending them backwards to the dirt where they collided with their commander. 

 

Sara had picked up the commander’s rifle by then and she leveled it at him, the cock of the gun enough to make everyone present freeze in place.

 

“Which one of you did it to him?” she thundered, the storm building behind her as more people began to circle around the Larussian guards. 

 

The commander spit out a loose tooth and staggered to his feet. “You got a problem with me taking out the trash, you little bitch?”

 

Mila didn’t even get the chance to stop her, she’d already rushed towards him; her hands grasping air as she chased after her, knowing if she didn’t stop she’d regret it every single day.

 

“Sara don’t!”

 

The man thought himself smart and ducked down as if to rush her, but she was quick to counter, one of her fancy embroidered shoes smashing hard into his groin; he fell back to the ground and she was on him before anyone could intervene, bayonet stabbed right beside his ear and muzzle right above his face.

 

“Sara!”

 

There was a loosening of her shoulders, and she shrugged them back, daring to turn away for one second to look at the woman she knew had to be coming towards her.

 

“It’s okay,” she murmured, almost too quiet to hear over the voices of the crowd; but her eyes met Mila’s for one moment and she came to a halt, understanding settling like a gentle calm over her. 

 

Sara jerked the rifle to the side and fired the shot, close enough to burn the side of his face and scare him half to death, but nothing more. The tip of her toe daintily tilted his chin up to make him look at her as she smiled like she was chatting with him over tea and not holding a bayonet to his throat.

 

“There are men out there with noble blood who have shed it because of cowards like you, brave men who have put the needs of others before themselves; may your scar remind you of your cowardice for the rest of your days and haunt you like a ghost until hell comes to claim your for its own.”

 

Mila was beside her now, quickly pulling out the rope she had tucked under her apron and using it to secure his arms behind his back and his feet together; people amongst their crowd making quick work of the other three then waiting for Sara to give her next order.

 

“Someone get a cart and get them into it, those of you with weapons make for the other roads into town and start getting a barricade up so these bastards can’t have any help reach them.”

 

They all moved at her beckoning, everyone quick to divide up the work and get the best amongst them to handle it; and as the guards were thrown into a cart and trundled away to a home they were securing to hold them prisoner in, Mila reached out a hand to settle on Sara’s shoulders.

 

“Hey, you okay?”

 

She turned, a soft smile on her lips as she tossed the rifle to the ground gently, and nodded. “I think so.”

 

Mila could still see that slight shake to her hands and quickly pulled her into her arms; nestling her chin over her shoulder and softly stroking her hair as she murmured quietly so only she could hear.

 

“It’s okay if you’re not. You don’t always have to be so strong.”

 

Her posture tensed at that and Mila knew then that she was holding her real emotions back, not wanting to show weakness in front of the people who idolized her; so she took her hands and led her quietly away from the yelling and shouting as the citizens of Limisa came out of their houses and offered up their help, finally reaching the old ruins on the outskirts of the city and coaxing her to sit upon one of the fallen pillars that still remained.

 

Mila settled beside her, wrapping her arm around her shoulders and leaning her head in close so her whispered words weren’t swallowed up by the wind.

 

“It’s just me now, Sara. Breathe.”

 

She did, long and slow, and as she went to take that second deep breath, it faltered; a choked back sob breaking free from her stalwart lips as she turned to bury her face in Mila’s arms.

 

“He’s going to be okay, Sara. You know Eros, he’ll drag him back out of hell if he has to,” Mila said quietly, glad when that garnered a soft laugh in reply. She pressed on, hoping she could find a way to help her find peace with this. “I know, it’s gotten bad. I know people have gotten hurt and that’s the last thing you wanted. But…”

 

She nudged her face up at that until she met her eyes. 

 

“If you’ve got one of the princes of Larussia throwing himself onto bayonets for you, then I think you might be doing something right.”

 

Sara’s laugh was a bit choked, a smile tugging her lips up in a way that Mila could tell wasn’t forced just for show.

 

“I’m just…”

 

“Understandably worried?”

 

She nodded, and it was the closest she’d ever come to meek.

 

“You don’t have to be confident every single moment, Sara. I know you think you might, that if you don’t someone will find that one soft spot in your armor and use it against you. But you don’t. Especially not in front of me. I already know you’re the strongest woman on earth and absolutely nothing is going to convince me otherwise.”

 

Sara feebly shoved at her shoulder, her eyes darting aside. “You’re the one that tore down a bridge.”

 

“I’m talking about strength in here,” Mila countered, gently setting her hand over Sara’s heart; the soft feel of her breast enough to make her own heart jolt.

 

How could one woman be carved from bronze like the ancient goddesses of old still be so perfectly human?

 

“I haven’t always been so strong,” she muttered back. 

 

“Neither have I,” Mila replied, earning a look of shock from her. She pressed on. “We’ve had to forge ourselves anew when the world ripped our parents out of our reach far too soon, and when we did it, we used iron and steel and fire. We filed every bit of softness into hard edges that could bite back if we had to, traded in our silks and sashes for strength. We’ve become what we had to in order to survive.”

 

She brought her other hand up at that, pressing against her soft cheek and sliding down to sweep her hair over her ear.

 

“But we’re still human, beneath all that grit in place of glamour. We can still cry and laugh and love just like anyone else. Our strength is an armor that we can always take off if we need to, but I think it’s been awhile since either of us have.”

 

Sara leaned into her touch, Mila’s fingers sliding to a stop at the back of her neck, and both of them let that myriad of emotions they’d kept locked away flit across their faces as if testing the waters to see if it was truly safe to let their armor down. Slowly, Sara moved her hand up to rest upon Mila’s chest, over her heart the same way she had, and gave her a gentle smile.

 

“Well, you’re the strongest woman on earth to my knowledge, so I suppose we may have to settle for a tie. If we’re being honest about it.”

 

And perhaps it was that dusting of pink across her bronze skin, perhaps it was the feeling of her heart racing in pace with her own, perhaps it was because the moment that armor came down the wall neither of them realized was between them came down too; but Mila found herself leaning in at the same moment Sara did, their foreheads bumping together yet still not knocking them off their intended course.

 

The kiss was everything they thought they’d forgotten how to be. Delicate and feather light, soft and sweet, tame and tender; and when Mila slid her tongue past those smooth lips, she could feel Sara go weak in her arms and she wondered if perhaps she’d done the same.

 

When they pulled apart, Mila could see the blend of lipstick on Sara’s lips; the natural pink of her shade overlying the darker shade Sara had on; both of them rosy in the cheeks although Mila didn’t think either of them ever put on that amount of rouge. 

 

Sara spoke first, her voice airy and a bit higher pitched than normal.

 

“Well. Um…” she nervously tucked a hair behind her ear and Mila thought this was perhaps the most flustered she’d ever seen her. “So… “

 

“You’re beautiful,” Mila blurted out. Then at Sara’s startled look she clarified, “What? You are. The most beautiful.”

 

Sara’s hand moved then, reaching up to sweep at the shorter cut of her hair thanks to the bullet that had taken her longer strands with it. 

 

“So are you. The most beautiful.”

 

Mila let out a nervous laugh at that. “Guess we’ll have to be tied at that too.”

 

And suddenly all that iron and steel and fire didn’t matter for a moment, because they were just two girls in love who very much wanted to kiss one another as if to remind themselves again and again how good things that are soft and delicate and tender can be.

 

* * *

 

It was evening by the time Phichit finished running errands that day.

 

He’d left fairly early, hoping to catch Celestino’s ship when it made port at Shinkoshi that afternoon; the city to Hasetsu’s south a bit larger and a hub of trade between Apulia, Yamato, the Kemetic Kingdom and Uluru. Yuuri had wanted him to try and find some of the quilted armor that they used in the Kemetic Kingdom, the cotton-like fluff from the kapok tree a bit sturdier, so when Victor inevitably insisted on helping them again he might have something to protect his now even more delicate skin from further harm. And Phichit had found an Uluru trader that had a eucalyptus-based poultice that professed to help wound and pain relief, which he also acquired easily by trading some of their premade garments or silk that Leo had sent with him. 

 

By the time he returned home, he’d acquired a few more things than expected; most notably, a certain letter that had been entrusted to Celestino by his mother. So once home, he had a fairly urgent, if not necessarily emergency-level, need to talk with Yuuri, who, after Victor had finally gotten too weak to stay with him in his workshop any longer, had been keeping him company in his room.

 

Phichit gave the door a knock and called out, “Hey, I’m back. Mind if I come in?”

 

“Oh. Yeah, sure,” Yuuri replied, and Phichit could already hear the shift of fabric in his lap.

 

It figured, if Yuuri was worried at all, he was most likely sewing.

 

Victor had been propped up on a pile of pillows, most likely every one available in the household at the moment, and Yuuri sat beside him on a cushion working on embroidering a jacket cuff.

 

“I heard you had a visitor earlier,” Phichit mentioned, for Mari as usual was apt to keep him in the loop on any details Yuuri was likely to omit due to either embarrassment or preoccupation with something else.

 

Yuuri let out a sigh. “Emperor Minami is now aware of the situation with Victor. It was either that or letting him make assumptions as to why he was in my workshop barely wearing anything.”

 

“Tough call then,” Phichit teased.

 

He glared but as usual, Phichit could tell it was half-hearted.

 

“I think we picked the better option,” Victor put in, definitely sounding a bit weaker than he had been that morning. 

 

“How you holding up, by the way? I heard you were downstairs for a bit.”

 

As if reminded of his current state, Yuuri quickly sat down his work and turned to fuss over him as he replied. 

 

“He was. But not long after the emperor left, he became severely short of breath again and I made him come back up and lay down. I hope he just overdid it, but…”

 

Victor was quick to reach a hand as if to try and placate Yuuri in return.

 

“I’m coughing less today,” he countered. “It just hurts like hell. That’s all.”

 

Yuuri’s worry didn’t budge, and knowing that look far too well, Phichit decided the best course for everyone involved would be if he brought up something else to distract him from fretting.

 

“Well I don’t want to impose if you’re not up to it, but I got a letter from home and I think you should know about it.”

 

He turned at that, the worry now shifted to be replaced with another. “Is everything okay?”

 

Phichit nodded. “Yeah, it’s fine. Just a letter from my mom.”

 

Yuuri scrambled to his feet at that and shot Victor a worried look before taking a step towards the door.

 

“Do we need to step out?”

 

He bit his lip, for he’d been considering the same; but for all his worries, he knew what his mother would want him to do.

 

“No. I think Victor deserves to know.”

 

Yuuri’s shock was expected, and before he could start protesting the matter, Phichit continued.

 

“Our mothers were good friends, Yuuri. I think it’s about time I do my best to extend the same friendship to Victor.”

 

Victor had sat up a little at that, a question in his eyes.

 

“Our mothers? Really?”

 

“I don’t know if you’d remember her, but Lady Sirikit of Ayutthaya?”

 

“It sounds familiar. A royal consort perhaps?”

 

“That would be her.”

 

The meaning dawned on him suddenly.

 

“Your mother, the royal consort who my mother wrote to secretly because my father forbid us from associating with Ayutthaya. Then that means with the right father… you’re a prince?”

 

Phichit let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah, it looks like Yuuri’s collecting them.”

 

Victor’s eyes narrowed, confused. “Why are you telling me this?”

 

He walked over and sat down next to Victor, patting the cushion beside him until Yuuri followed suit.

 

“Because I misjudged you. I thought perhaps your mother’s influence was too faded to protect you from your father’s influence and I was wrong. And I should have known that if there was any Larussian worth trusting, it’d be a Nikiforov.”

 

“You put Yuuri’s safety first,” Victor said, voice quiet, “and that’s what’s important. I’ve seen the influence my father can have, I know my brother might be a different person if it wasn’t for him, so I completely understand how someone might assume me to be the same.”

 

“I guess I was lucky. My mother saw the messy politics and my older siblings trying to kill each other and she got me out. But you,” and he reached out at this, placing a gentle hand on Victor’s arm, “you’ve managed to stay true to what your mother and her family stood for. And that’s why, I want you to read this letter and think of it as something she might tell you if she could.”

 

He held out the letter at that and slowly, Victor took it from him and opened it up. 

 

> _ My dearest child, _
> 
> _ I know I’m not there in person, as much as I wish I could be, to take you into my arms and shower kisses upon you. But, please do not be mad at Emperor Minami for this, I have received word of your good deeds as of late and I knew I must immediately write you and tell you how incredibly proud I am of you.  _
> 
> _ Your father and some of your siblings might be difficult and unkind, but you, my precious darling, have kept that goodness that I taught you safe inside your heart. To think that my son would be so brave! Why, although I do not wish the dangers upon you, it has always been my dearest wish that you would find that royalty that runs in your blood some day and act with it guiding your heart. Noble and brave and good, my sweet child, how grateful I am that you’ve grown up to be such a man.  _
> 
> _ Though I may not be with you, my heart is overflowing with pride; and once I know it is safe to do so, I will tell everyone how honored I am to have you for a child. _
> 
> _ Stay safe, my child. And know that I love you more than anything.  _

 

Victor’s eyes darted up from the page, tears already welling in them that he was holding just barely back, and before Phichit could say a single word, he’d leaned forward and pulled him into a hug.

 

“Thank you,” he murmured, even his voice thick with emotion; and Phichit was sure he’d hug him even tighter if he wasn’t painful to his injury. “I…  _ thank you _ .”

 

Phichit hugged him back and over his shoulder he could see Yuuri looking at him with such a warm and gentle smile. 

 

“I don’t deserve you, Phichit Chulanont,” Yuuri muttered before he too leaned forward to wrap Phichit into a hug.

 

“Yeah you do,” he replied, his own voice a little choked up now too. “I wouldn’t be half the man I am without you, after all.”

 

And although he had to argue a bit to convince Yuuri of that very fact, they ended the evening sitting on the bedroom floor eating dinner while they spoke of mothers, love and friendship.

 

* * *

 

It was the evening of the second day since his arrival in Yamato when Victor finally realized why the small little inn looked so incredibly familiar somehow; a hint of a memory surfacing just long enough for him to grasp onto those threads of the past and slowly tug them back to the forefront of his mind.

 

He’d been nine, and it had been snowing when they’d arrived at the port in Yamato; his mother requesting a rarely honored audience with the ruling shogunate of the country to try and at least make some basic trade agreements so the waters between their countries weren’t so tempestuous. 

 

Victor had begged her to take him along, old enough to know that whenever she went on foreign affairs and left him with his father it meant he’d be subjected to his scrutiny. He’d already forbidden her from teaching him embroidery and had been weeding out his closet of anything he deemed ill fitting for man; needless to say Victor requested to go with his mother nearly everywhere he could.

 

So bundled up in their finest garments with Nikiforov royal blue cloaks trimmed with white fur that accented their flowing silver hair, they’d left to visit the country across the sea to the east. And, as if the fog of time had slowly faded now, it had been a small inn remarkably similar to the Katsuki’s where they had spent one night after arrival due to a snowstorm preventing their travel further.

 

Unsure if Yuuri’s mother or father understood enough Amorican for him to ask about it, he waited until he found a moment alone with Mari and asked her if she remembered any such visitor. To his surprise, she’d been quick to answer that it had been that very inn where they had stayed.

 

“I’m surprised Yuuri never mentioned it,” she remarked. “Although, he was probably embarrassed.”

 

“Why would he be embarrassed?”

 

Mari indicated the small poodle that was dozing in Victor’s lap. “Do you know why we have a poodle named Vicchan?”

 

He shook his head and Mari grinned. Whatever the story was, it was clear she was more than willing to share it.

 

“Well, he’ll probably kill me for telling you, so you’d best be prepared to defend me,” she teased, blowing a ring of smoke before taking one more puff from her pipe. 

 

“It can’t be that embarrassing, can it?”

 

She held her pipe aloft, amusement curled onto her lips. “Yuuri was five when you and your mother had to stay here one night during the snowstorm. He was… completely enamored with you.”

 

Victor strained his memory, hoping he could recall something of this, but it was still shrouded with the haze of age; mere shadows of what he could remember all that he was left with.

 

“Did I meet him?”

 

“Not directly. He was too shy to approach you and watched you from afar. But it was your fancy embroidered capes and clothing that made him ask my mother to teach him to sew. And he insisted on getting a dog like yours, even if we ended up with a smaller breed.”

 

Victor’s fingers stilled where they were stroking the sleeping dog’s fur, his eyes darting from it back to Mari with surprise. 

 

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

 

“Vicchan is a nickname. The dog’s name is Victor.”

 

He was about to ask once more if she was telling the truth when another voice cut in and his eyes darted towards it.

 

“Are we telling Victor embarrassing Yuuri stories? Can I go next?” Phichit asked.

 

Behind him in the doorway stood Yuuri, bright red to his ears. “No! No more stories! From either of you!”

 

Mari shrugged, shooting Victor a look. “You two have been connected long before I think either of you knew it.”

 

Victor was certain his own cheeks must have burned red at that and he did his best to meet Yuuri’s gaze, even though it was frantically shifting from him to the floor.

 

“Yuuri, was I really why you decided to take up sewing?”

 

He nervously rubbed the back of his head, his eyes still averted. “I-I told you. Some people just… inspire others.”

 

Had his lap not been full of snoozing dog, he would have rushed to wrap Yuuri in his arms; instead he opened them wide and hoped he might oblige.

 

“Yuuri, he’s waiting,” Phichit murmured, prodding his friend.

 

Brown eyes finally met his eyes then and held, clearly worried that Victor would somehow think less of him for this revelation; so not wanting that worry to plague him any further, he spoke up now with a gentle smile settling on his face.

 

“Eros belongs with Psyche, I believe it’s been said,” Victor began, his own tone wavering a little at the thought. “How fitting then that I would inspire you to take up a trade that would lead you back to me in time.”

 

Yuuri didn’t just oblige his open-armed request, but closed the space between them and dropped to his knees before clutching Victor to him as tightly as he could without causing Victor any pain; his voice rough and caught on emotion as he finally replied.

 

“I’m so glad I met you,” he murmured, soft and low. “Because the Victor you are is so much more amazing and wonderful than even my wildest dreams could ever conjure up.”

 

Victor felt something warm and pleased curl around his heart at that, the knowledge that he - just as he was - was good enough for Yuuri infusing him with a sense of comfort beyond compare; for he’d spent so much of his life pretending to be what others wanted and it was such a great relief to know that Yuuri wanted him for who he already was inside.

 

He could be Yuuri’s prince and never have need to be anything else.

 

Yuuri sat back, those brown eyes shining, and Victor realized he must have said it aloud for the way he gasped and let his mouth hang open just a little in disbelief.

 

“Victor…”

 

He leaned his forehead in until it settled against Yuuri’s, silver and black strands of hair mingling together as natural as the cadence of their heartbeats matching beat for beat. 

 

“And since you are indeed a brave tailor,” Victor whispered, words meant only for Yuuri, “that would make you a fairytale prince.  _ My _ fairytale prince.”

 

Yuuri’s eyes softened at that, the fondness tangible in his gaze.

 

“ _ Yours _ .”

 

It was such a simple word, but at the utterance of it, Victor’s entire world shifted. No longer plagued with worry and doubt and duty but heart lit anew with a fire that burned with truth and bravery and love. 

 

There was no question anymore as to who he needed to be, for Yuuri had already given him the answer. 

 

Himself. 

 

Victor,  _ Yuuri’s _ Victor, would find a way with courage and kindness to save Larussia and its people no matter what risks he had to take to make it so. 

 

And when their lips met, he no longer just took that courage from Yuuri’s lips to paint it upon his own. No, he poured forth his own courage and strength and affection, showering it upon him as he did Victor and wrapping them both in cloaks made of something far stronger than the hatred of his father and his kind.

 

Love.

 

* * *

 

It was the first time the Society of the Vermilion Rose gathered with their new and surprising addition of Victor. Leo had wondered if Yuuri might be different around him, for he’d had such a complicated relationship with the prince before Limisa, but oddly enough if anything he seemed calmer now; it was a calm like those before a storm, the brewing machinations of a plan hovering about him like clouds gathering.

 

And just like the telling signs nature would give to warn that this storm was going to be more dangerous than any before, the fire in Yuuri’s eyes that was usually only there from time to time was burning with a blaze almost constantly, his workshop now a war room strewn with maps and fabrics in equal amounts.

 

Leo had thought perhaps he might wait longer, thought perhaps his worry for Victor might override everything else; but if anything that worry seemed to fuel the blaze, stoking it ever higher with each touch or glance from the prince.

 

“I know I’d originally said we might wait a bit, but that’s changed. We need to act soon in order for all the pieces to fall into place properly,” he said standing before them now, his eyes focused and sharp. “And if we succeed, then Apulia will have nothing more to worry about.”

 

A softness curled around his features, his eyes gentle as they danced from one man in the room to the next. 

 

“But first, I want to ask you all a question.”

 

Leo sat up a bit straighter at that, his eyes flickering to Guang Hong and then back to Yuuri.

 

“I’m been very lucky to have your help to get us this far, but I can’t ignore the fact that the dangers we now face are potentially deadly. Guang Hong, and now Victor, have both brushed far too close with death for me to turn a blind eye to the reality. And so, before we continue, I want you to honestly tell me if you are willing to risk everything for this cause.”

 

The room fell silent and Yuuri pressed on.

 

“I won’t think any less of you if you cannot. I wouldn’t dare call any of you a coward for all that you’ve done. But I don’t think the dangers were this real when we began, and they are now. I need to know you accept that the way I do.”

 

Leo turned then to Victor, seeing the same cloud of emotions flickering through his eyes as Leo thought might be in his own; for although one part of him was quick to answer to the call, there was still something inside holding him back with fear.

 

To no one’s surprise, Phichit moved first, standing up from his chair before kneeling at Yuuri’s side with a grin.

 

“I’m in this with you until the end, Yuuri. No matter what.”

 

“Thank you Phichit. If anything happens to me, it’s up to you to finish the job.”

 

At those words, Victor’s hand reached out, a tremble that didn’t seem to be from pain as he beckoned Yuuri to his side; Yuuri taking his hand and drawing close to him with the smallest smile settling on his face.

 

“Victor, if you can’t, I understand. You can continue to help us like you did before and that will be enough.”

 

But where there had been hesitance and fear, something else had taken hold when Yuuri took his hand; a fire unlike anything Leo had ever seen from the prince flaring to life in his eyes as bright as a firework.

 

Slowly, still a bit unsteady from his injury, he stood and took Yuuri’s other hand; kneeling before him as he brought it to his lips and settled a kiss upon the ring on his finger.

 

“Like Psyche, I will walk into hell itself if I must for you,” Victor murmured softly, raising his eyes to hold Yuuri’s gaze. A gentle smile curled onto his lips. “And for the sake of my people and the people of Apulia, I will do whatever it takes to give them peace.”

 

“Victor…”

 

The pride in his eyes was overflowing and Leo was unsurprised when Yuuri helped him to his feet before wrapping him in a passionate embrace.

 

He turned to Guang Hong, a bit surprised on realizing he’d just looked towards him as well; both of them sharing a shy smile between them before Guang Hong reached out and took Leo’s hand.

 

Thousands of words passed unspoken between them, Guang Hong’s warmth quick to reassure him that no matter what Leo decided, he wouldn’t think less of him for it; but much like how Victor seemed to gain strength just by having Yuuri’s hand in his own, Leo too felt his fears abating as Guang Hong’s hand held his tight.

 

They could be hung. Perhaps worse than that. There were so many dangers it was hard to even consider them all. 

 

But Leo thought of the happiness on the faces of the Apulian people every time they even regained one more city to call their own, thought of how their ruthless ruler would surely punish them severely if he managed to retake their lands, thought of how two years ago in Arawak he’d been unable to help as much as he could.

 

Could he live with himself if he didn’t give his all this time?

 

Guang Hong gave his hand a squeeze before he too stood and took a knee at Yuuri’s side.

 

“My weapons are yours until the end, Yuuri. Whatever it might be.”

 

Leo was on his feet before he could think, taking a knee at Guang Hong’s side and grasping his hand with a confidence twining around his heart as their fingers twined together; his eyes turning to meet the eyes of the other brave men around him before looking up with a courage unlike anything else burning strong inside.

 

“I’ve said it before, but I mean it now more than ever. We, of the Society of the Vermilion Rose, shall stand as one.”   
  


* * *

 

“You’re going to strain your eyes.”

 

They were back on the ship, the Katsuki family’s merchant vessel Victor had discovered, called the Daydream and bound for Santa Lucia. Yuuri had insisted on having a doctor look Victor over before they boarded that morning, only agreeing with leaving once they’d been assured that the worst was surely behind him. Yuuri had wanted to stay longer, and Victor found himself wishing the fates had allowed that well, but with the masquerade ball at the end of the week and Victor’s absence for a few days surely noticed, it was not wise to linger anymore.

 

The Katsuki family had told Victor that no matter what happened, he was welcome back to their home whenever he desired to visit and he’d clung to that like a lifeline as the boat carried them away from that loving warm family towards his own cold father and brother in Larussia.

 

Every worry that he’d voiced had been meticulously answered with care by Yuuri, who it seemed had already dwelt over all the possible worries and found solutions to them all. That was why, although it was little, Victor had insisted on doing something to help in return.

 

In the dim lighting of the cabin room,  _ Yuuri’s _ room, Victor had been set up in a bundle of blankets and pillows and had been stitching very slowly but as steadily as he could on the cuff of a beautiful red coat.

 

Yuuri had, thankfully given their current constraints, already started in on a new court suit for Victor; the panels of it already embroidered and merely waiting for fitting and assembly by the time Victor had arrived in Yamato. That made preparing his outfit for the surprise ball easy, but Yuuri now had the matter of not only the emperor’s request but his own pending outfit to deal with in addition to everything else that was surely on his mind.

 

Victor had insisted until he caved that Yuuri at least let him do some of the work on Yuuri’s suit to help.

 

“I want to get as much done for you as I can. My eyes will be fine,” he retorted, returning to the button hole he was stitching.

 

Yuuri had reused panels from a ballgown that never reached completion for the base and Victor was glad to help do simple stitching like buttons and hems. As it was, it was going to be absolutely  _ stunning _ on Yuuri, Victor knew that already; the ornate red silk brocade with the golden threads shimmering in the pattern of the weave accented with even more gold embroidery. After their talk with the emperor, Yuuri had finally convinced Victor that he would attend the ball looking as much like the Vermilion Rose as possible; for in order for their plan to work, Yuuri would  _ need _ to be targeted. It was beyond risky, but Yuuri reassured him over and over that he would only get arrested in order to put the emperor in the position to move against Demyan. 

 

The only reason Victor agreed was that his trust in Yuuri was absolute. If Yuuri promised him he’d find a way out safely, no matter what; then Victor believed in it wholeheartedly.

 

Yuuri slid down next to him on the bed, the silk and velvet he wore, having already gotten into his costume, mingling with the brocade Victor worked on; the gentle sound a strange comfort given how he’d come to associate it with the man who wore it.

 

Victor darted his eyes up from his sewing and found Yuuri looking at him with an odd expression.

 

“What? Am I doing it wrong?”

 

Yuuri chuckled and shook his head, but didn’t say anything more.

 

Taking the hint, Victor tucked the needle into the fabric and set it aside; opening his arms instead and immediately finding them filled when Yuuri embraced him as tight as he dared.

 

“I’m just…” his voice was but a whisper in Victor’s ear, soft and melodious like the silk and velvet as it wavered on his words and they tumbled free. “I’m just really happy.”

 

Victor moved his hand up to cradle the back of his head, his hair still down like normal and yet to be slicked and curled like Eros; and something about that juxtaposition, Yuuri in red silk and velvet but with glasses perched on his nose and hair falling gently around his face, made Victor’s heart grow tight with emotion. 

 

_ I’m so lucky, _ his heartbeat echoed over and over. 

 

Yuuri pulled back, resting his forehead against Victor’s, and giggled softly to himself when the tips of their noses bumped.

 

“To think that the Victor I’ve always admired would be sewing my buttons on,” he murmured quietly, the twinkle in his eyes sparkling like diamonds. 

 

Victor laughed at that. “Is that all you’re happy about?” he teased.

 

The twinkle in his eyes shone even brighter. 

 

“I’m happy… for so many things.”

 

“Like?”

 

Yuuri pecked a light kiss to his lips before replying, voice even softer than before as if his embarrassment was threatening to take hold but he was pushing it back.

 

“You. Just… you’re  _ alive _ , and you’re going to help us, and you’re… you’re  _ mine _ . And the more I think about any of that the happier I become.”

 

Victor clutched him closer at that, ignoring the twinge in his chest at the strain, for he needed some way to try and convey how happy Yuuri had made him in return. 

 

“You said… you couldn't tell me how, but if everything works out we could…”

 

“Be together?” Yuuri finished, that fiery courage flickering in his eyes now like a beacon.

 

Victor nodded.

 

“We’ll find a way, no matter what happens,” he replied, voice like steel; and although there was no mask it was clear that Eros was already here.

 

“Yuuri…”

 

“I promise you, Victor. We might have to fight for it, but we’ll get our happy ending.”

 

And there were not enough words in the entire universe to convey the amount of love and happiness that settled upon Victor’s heart at that; so he kissed Yuuri with his very soul bared open and hoped he might understand that he felt the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A gentleman wearing shirt and breeches is considered to be undressed. Though modestly covered by modern standards, by 18th Century standards he is considered to be in his ‘small clothes’ – his underwear. If he wants to take off his tight, movement-restricting coat anywhere where he might be seen, even in his own house, he will replace it with some other piece of outerwear such as a banyan (kimono-style dressing gown).


	13. A Baker’s Dozen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh buckle in readers, we've only got 3 more chapters after this left! (oh and next chapter will have a bonus oneshot attached because Victor and Yuuri's scene went over their allowed word count and the current rating) [ ∗ ◕ □ ◕ ∗ ]

There were two things Apulians were well known for: their hot-blooded nature and their hospitality and generosity. Even during a time of revolution, Sara Crispino knew that both of those aspects of her heritage were equally important and necessary; so when they’d finally received word that not only was the Larussian prince alive and well, but that they’d be returning to Santa Lucia on the next evening, it was a natural conclusion for her to find the perfect way to welcome them back.

 

It had been seven years since they’d been able to last celebrate the festival of San Michele the Archangel. There was a cave where the angel was said to have appeared many many years ago on the southern coast of Apulia, and it was something much of the country had celebrated fondly, a warm and vibrant affair with food and dancing. Why even Sara’s brother had been named after the brave angel who’d faced Lucifer himself! And while a large celebration in Paglicci near the cave would be too difficult, given it’s proximity to Tarraco and Velia, Santa Lucia had traditionally held a large festival as well. 

 

It might be a tad risky, certainly, but with their newly gifted attire that came from Yamato with the letter, she had little worry that her presence would be a danger; Sara herself might not want to spend a night of drinking and revelry only to find that someone had sold her out the next morning for a handful of rubles, but Storge of the Vermilion Rose had no such worries. Mila had laughed at her first suggestion of it, the idea that they could assemble such a gathering in but a day seeming too impossible; but Sara knew her people, knew that still joyous from their hard won freedom only a few days before in that city, they’d be more than happy to make a miracle happen overnight.

 

And so, that was how Sara found herself in Santa Lucia at the port, waiting for a specific ship from Yamato to arrive so she could shower the men aboard it in the gratitude and honor they deserved. For what better than a festival in honor of the patron saint of chivalry to celebrate the men of the Vermilion Rose who had risked so much to bring them this far? 

 

Sara smoothed her fingertips down the sleeves of the coat, still not quite used to wearing a fully fitted men’s suit made of such rich fabrics; she generally had sufficed with a more simplistic waistcoat and breeches when she’d been in disguise as Serafino. But this outfit, as well as the one they’d made for Mila, was sewn with a little bit of love from each and every member of the Vermilion Rose wrapped into its threads. 

 

_ A silk noil made from the cocoons of Ludus’s silkworms for the red-orange of the jacket, a silk droguet pattern of small flowers of Agape’s Zhoungguo tea tree in blues for a waistcoat, Eros’s delicate embroidery on the buttons, Psyche’s work on the buttonholes, and assembled by Philia’s hands.  _

 

And maybe it was that love stitched into each part of their outfits, for Mila’s light blue velveteen coat and equally beautiful ivory satin waistcoat had been much the same, but it really made Sara feel like she was one of the group. Well, and of course, there were the masks.

 

Unlike the simple ribbons worn by Eros, Philia and Agape, and even more elaborate than the golden lace Ludus had, the Velian Carnevale styled masks they’d been given were just as beautiful as the garment they went with. Mila’s was in blues and teals and golds hatched out in little diamonds that looked like stained glass, and Sara’s was an ornately adorned coral red and gold with the petals of a flower flowing from the center in little flourishes by a paintbrush. 

 

It was a small gesture, to give them masks of Apulian heritage, but it meant so much to Sara that they’d done so. 

 

“Hey, Storge! They’ve snuck in on the other side of town!” Mila’s voice called out to her, the brilliant blue of her coat standing out bright in the night.

 

Sara shook her head. She should have known that even now they’d be taking precautions, especially with Prince Victor still involved. 

 

She’d just gotten to her feet and Mila’s hand had already reached down to clasp hers, tugging her along towards the hidden location they were waiting at; and a light laugh tumbled free from her lips because it was still such a bubbly feeling in her chest every time Mila’s hand settled into her own.

 

Love wasn’t something Sara had been looking for, far too concerned with managing her family’s business and trying to salvage friendships when Michele tried to drive anyone that spoke to her too much away. And the last thing she ever expected amidst this gambit against the king was to find love she wasn’t looking for to begin with! 

 

But she had.  _ Oh how she had! _

 

At their bakery, their father had started a little tradition that they carried on until the three of them had been blow away by the winds of fate; a selection of pastries and breads that if ordered in groups of thirteen were guaranteed to have a silver ruble hidden in one of the baker’s dozen. A one in thirteen chance didn’t seem like much, but it earned them trade and friendship and fostered a great relationship with the people they served. 

 

Sara had always joked with her father that if she was to find love, that’s how she’d find it; one silver ruble out of thirteen loaves, hidden in a place most unlikely and right when she needed it most. It felt like he must have been smiling down upon her now when she realized that’s exactly how it had happened.

 

Why this whole revolution borne of them standing firm against the king’s tax was just the same! Unlikely and right when she needed it most, a group of four men whisked them away from the scaffolds of Sigrosk, people rose up at her words and the most wonderful and beautiful woman came into her life; it was like she’d pulled the loaf with the ruble again and again. 

 

Luck was on their side, again and again and even now it was looking after them well; for while the majority of the festivities had begun near the docks at the other port, the ship that Mila now led her to was in the shadows with no one around to see them sneaking their way aboard.

 

A good looking Adelasian man without a mask directed them to the captain’s quarters and they were ushered in; to her surprise, despite wearing the attire, none of the five had donned any masks as of yet.

 

The one she knew as Eros stood, gave her a warm smile, and crossed to where she stood with a hand extended.

 

“Miss Crispino, if you’ll permit, I’d like to introduce the group of us to you properly.”

 

Sara darted her eyes to Mila who inclined her head towards the man. “Go on.”

 

She took the hand. 

 

“I’m Yuuri Katsuki, a tailor from Yamato.”

 

He shook the hand and took a step back, each man following in his manner and clutching her hand while giving their names- their real names and professions and country of birth. Such a surprising array of help, from men of status even, that she would have never dreamed of coming to someone like her’s assistance. .

 

Last, of course, was the one she already known in a way even if she’d never really encountered him before that day in Sigrosk.

 

He was back in disguise, although a new one, a new silver wig pulled back in a low ponytail with a scarlet ribbon and now he’d put a mask of a matching ribbon on his face; but what really caught her attention was the cotton caraco jacket, adorned with a print of red roses against a forest green with a white neckerchief wrapped around his neck and tucked in around the neckline. Out of all their outfits, it was the one without silks or velvets or brocades; even his breeches and boots something most middle class men probably owned themselves. 

 

If it hadn’t been apparently already, it made it clear that although he was prince, he was fighting for the common people.

 

“Miss Crispino, I hope you’re doing well,” he said, taking her hand.

 

“Much better now that I know you’re doing better, your highness.”

 

“Victor. To friends, I am simply Victor.”

 

The surprise must have shown on her face, for he inclined his head down at that and spoke once more.

 

“I know I can never undo what has been done in the past, but I want you to know that I will do everything in my power from this day forward to help you and the people of Apulia. It’s not much, but I will do all I can.”

 

Much like Eros, Victor was surprisingly humble as well; and finding herself unable to resist, she leaned forward and wrapped him in a gentle hug.

 

“Thank you, Victor,” Sara said softly. “I will not let your risk be forgotten. I’ve been so worried about you…”

 

He pulled back from the hug with a gentle smile. “You really are a born leader, Miss Crispino. The type of leader that will go down in history for their compassion and strength. Let it be known that I will not let your story be forgotten either.”

 

A warm smile spread across her face. “Please, my friends call me Sara.”

 

If possible, his smile grew even brighter at that. “Then I am honored to be one of your friends, Sara.”

 

Sara had always wanted to win this battle with friendship and family and love. It had felt like an impossible task when she’d begun, but now, surrounded by these five it became obvious to her that she’d somehow managed the impossible. 

 

They’d somehow forged an unbreakable bond that spanned not only between her and Mila, but to each of the five whose names she now held close in her heart as the dearest of friends; it was a love that spanned oceans and continents and classes and somehow brought them all to work for one common cause. All under the banner of friendship and family and love.

 

When they finally made their way out into the city, they received the hero’s welcome they deserved; the crowd bestowing laurel wreaths like the ancient Apulians of old would in honor, each one adorned with wildflowers that matched their garments. Sara at first was a bit uncertain if she should be considered part of the group, but Mila kindly reminded her that “if you believe I deserve a place of honor here, then you deserve it twice as much.”

 

There were toasts made, ample food and drink passed around, and it wasn’t long before an accordion began to play, followed up by two tambourines. 

 

Sara knew the melody and dance well and turned to ask Mila to join her only to find that she’d pulled Yuuri out there to teach him the steps. She shook her head and then turned to Victor.

 

“Looks like I better teach you the dance so we can both cut in and reclaim who we really want to dance with, hmm?”

 

To her surprise, his cheeks dusted a pretty pink at that. “Am I looking that wistful?”

 

Sara shot the two a look. “I can’t tell because I’m too busy doing the same.”

 

It earned her a smile and he extended his hand.

 

“I suppose we’ll just have to make them jealous to get back at them.”

 

She laughed at that, taking Victor’s hand and placing it in the right positions to begin the dance. The Pizzica do’ Core was originally a courtship dance, the woman using a red scarf to enticingly dance while followed by potential suitors, who she would dismiss one by one until she found the one she liked. Now it was mostly danced for fun, but there was still an edge of flirtatious banter involved in the dance’s movements. 

 

And the shift was never more apparent to her than it was this night; for she’d never danced it before  _ except _ for fun, the movements being just motions and nothing more. But as she danced now with Victor, both of them had their eyes on the pair beside them; and every step closer, every overdone flirtatious move, was clearly directed at someone other than their current partner.

 

It was, to her pleasant surprise, Mila that caved first; the scarf she had fumblingly handed off to Yuuri as she turned and cut right in front of Victor before he could step closer to Sara once more.

 

“I think you two’ve got the hang of it,” she remarked, casually. But it was obvious to Sara, at least, that that wasn’t the reason for the interruption.

 

She dangled the scarf in front of Mila teasingly. “Come to try and win my heart?”

 

Victor bowed himself out and, notably more excited now, turned his attentions to Yuuri; and as alias might suggest, Eros was a natural at it, the red scarf looking right at home with his attire and his eyes twinkling with that spark of fire that seemed to fuel his very soul. 

 

“Haven’t I already won your heart?” Mila countered, settling her hand on Sara’s shoulder as she moved behind her, following her steps. 

 

Sara looked back at her over her shoulder, that mischievous smile still tugging at her lips. “Hmm, have you?”

 

She spun out to face Mila, keeping herself just out of her reach as she held her arms up and moved with the music; letting her eyes drift closed and the rhythm wash over her before flickering them open towards Mila once more.

 

The blue, like that of a robin’s egg, was a good color on her; the coat’s color making her blue eyes seem even brighter as they shone through the mask. And her hair was slicked back like a gentleman’s, a little wave curling around her left ear that Sara found herself reaching out with a fingertip to trace before stepping once more out of Mila’s touch.

 

It earned her a huffed out laugh. “I know you’re used to being chased, Bella.”

 

Sara felt her face grow warm at the endearment, but tried to play it cool. “Ah, what’s that Dolcezza?”

 

_ Beautiful. Sweetness. _ It made her heartbeat faster and faster just like the melody. 

 

Mila snagged the end of the scarf and used it to reel Sara towards her and caught in the intensity of those blue eyes, she let herself be caught; the scarf now wrapped around her neck as Mila used it to tug her in.

 

Their noses bumped and Sara couldn’t hold back the smile from her lips.

 

“Now what could you want from me?” she taunted, the dance but an afterthought now.

 

Mila’s dropped the scarf, her hands going to settle on Sara’s hips. “Have you been thoroughly courted now, Bella? Or shall I continue?”

 

All Sara could think was that she’d been so worried until tonight that she had clearly not taken advantage of Mila’s newly kissable status in her life; and she pulled away, tossing the scarf to Leo before pointing at Mila and curling the finger towards herself. By the time Mila had reached her, she’d already made through the crowd around the dancing and to the nearest shadowy alcove that appeared to be devoid of people.

 

When Mila reached her side, a curious quirk to her eyebrows, Sara wasted not a moment more before pressing her back against the building with a smirk.

 

“You know,” and she only now realized how breathless she was, “I may be used to being chased, but I’m still rather new to being successfully caught.”

 

She smoothed her hands down the front of Mila’s coat, the velveteen soft under her fingertips, but Sara knew there was still something softer; her hands curling around Mila as she danced her fingertips against the nape of her neck.

 

“Sara…” it was soft, just a whisper easily swallowed up by the loud celebratory sounds of the city, but it somehow felt like it was the only thing Sara could hear.

 

Just Mila. Her heart, her words. That’s all that mattered at this moment in time.

 

“Say it again, please?”

 

Somehow, she understood.

 

“Bella.”

 

Her eyes fluttered closed, savoring the feel of the word. Wanted, for once. Not something tossed at her like a bone to a dog that she was expected to snatch up happily. Never, in all the times before, had it felt like this.

 

“Only you can make that word mean something to me,” she murmured, trying to convey the swirl of emotions in her chest. Her eyes flickered back open and she could see Mila’s expression had grown softer now, tender almost.

 

“Any other words I need to reclaim for you, Bella?”

 

The feeling in Sara’s chest burned warmer at that, like a freshly baked bread that had hit that perfect temperature to enjoy. Light and airy and wonderful.

 

“So many. But…” her fingertips found that curl of red hair again and she twirled it now around her finger. “We have time.”

 

Mila laughed at that, the sound making her emotions rise up even more. “Do we?”

 

There was the slightest hint of worry in her tone, so subtle that had she not come to know her so intimately, she would have never noticed it.

 

Sara slid her hands up into Mila’s hair, gently nudging her closer. 

 

“We have the rest of our lives, Mila,” she murmured softly, pleased to see that flicker of emotion echoed in blue eyes.

 

She was smiling now, at first a bit hesitant, but with a few silent giggles, it grew; her eyes sparkling now like sapphires in the night.

 

“Really?”

 

Sara nodded, suddenly a bit shy. “If you’d like, that is.”

 

“I’d like that more than anything.”

 

They both paused for a moment, realizing they’d put themselves out there and it had been met in kind; a hope, a dream maybe, but something they both want.

 

“Once... “ and Sara hesitated, for she’d never dared to speak this dream aloud until now. “Once Apulia is free, I want to move to Florentina. I can build a small bakery in that space beside your house and… it can be ours.”

 

Mila clutched her tighter at that, her words dancing now across Sara’s lips. 

 

“I’d love that.”

 

_ I love you _ , Sara thought and maybe she said it aloud, because suddenly Mila’s kissing her passionately and nothing else in the world mattered.

 

They’d find their way back to the others in time, but for now, for these few moments of calm before the storm that was surely coming, they had this.

 

They had each other.

 

* * *

 

No one was that surprised when Yuuri and Victor left the festivities a bit early. 

 

Yuuri had been rather vigilant about ensuring that Victor didn’t overdo it, and Guang Hong suspected, was a bit overwhelmed by the crowds himself. Everyone knew they were probably going back to enjoy the evening’s fireworks in private aboard the ship, and all of them assured Yuuri it was fine when he asked them again and again if they could go.

 

Phichit leaving not that much later, and therefore leaving Guang Hong alone with Leo, was something clearly intentional as well. He tried to say that Yuuri clearly wasn’t finalizing the plans for Naissus tomorrow, so someone had to do it; but Guang Hong had a feeling he was trying to give them some time together before everything in the next few days. 

 

Normally, the prospect of the upcoming adventures would have Guang Hong’s heart racing with excitement; but perhaps a little of Leo’s pragmatic view had rubbed off, because this time Guang Hong found himself excited but also very aware of how real the dangers they’d be facing soon were. Starting tomorrow and culminating on Friday, they were going to either make a miracle happen or die trying.

 

“You okay? You’ve been a bit quiet,” Leo asked.

 

They’d made their way to the docks, both of them sitting and letting their legs dangle over the edge, and were waiting for the fireworks to start. But until then, Guang Hong’s thoughts had been going over and over their upcoming plans.

 

“Just thinking,” he replied. At Leo’s frown, he added. “I’m only worrying a little.”

 

Leo nudged him with his shoulder. “Hey now, worrying is my job. At least between us. I think Yuuri probably worries enough for all of us, if we’re being honest though.”

 

Guang Hong let out a soft laugh at that. It was true. Despite his plans being precise and methodical, they were often borne of the moment and adrenaline and necessity. That was Yuuri’s talent perhaps, the ability to memorize and have some grand plan in his mind and know which threads to pull and which ones to cut to get the result he wanted. It was impulsive, as much as Phichit tried to make it otherwise, but it worked.

 

“I hope he knows what he’s doing with this ball,” Guang Hong muttered.

 

Beside him, Leo let out a sigh. “Yeah, I think we’d all feel better if we could be there to back him up. But Victor will be there, at least. That’s what Yuuri will need most.”

 

Guang Hong turned at that, pausing a moment before moving his hand over to take Leo’s. 

 

“I think we all have something important we want to protect now. Even more than when we began this. And I just have a feeling that it’ll be the key to our success.”

 

“Guang Hong…”

 

He leaned over at that, settling his head against Leo’s shoulder. “I mean, the last time you were in serious danger I threw myself in front of a bullet.”

 

“Please don’t do that again,” Leo retorted.

 

Guang Hong laughed. “You know I can’t promise that. If you’re in danger, I’ll do whatever it takes to save you.”

 

Leo huffed “You’re as bad as Yuuri. You heard him telling Victor that he could only be Psyche again if he understood that he’d do anything to protect him. Hell, even Victor’s the same.”

 

“Wouldn’t you?”

 

He pulled back, his eyes catching the surprise as it flickered across Leo’s face; but instead of hesitance or changing the subject like he thought Leo might, he was almost smiling when he replied.

 

“Do you even have to ask?”

 

It’s a relief in a way. To know that they’d both risk everything for each other. A strange sort of comfort, really.

 

Guang Hong’s arms were around Leo’s neck in a heartbeat; his words muffled as he pulled Leo towards him.

 

“I hope it never comes to that. For any of us.”

 

Leo’s arms settled warm around his waist. 

 

“Yeah, I think one of us being shot and another being almost fatally stabbed is quite enough.”

 

Guang Hong snorted out a laugh at that, and it fell quiet a moment between them. 

 

Finally, he spoke up once more.

 

“Leo?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I’m so glad you’re in this with us. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

 

He laughed lightly at that, almost nervous. “I told you, your excitement for it rubbed off on me. I’m not the same guy who started out with you on this crazy quest.”

 

“No, but it’s only made me love you even more.”

 

He could feel Leo tense up at that and suddenly he was clutching him closer, his words muted by the press of his lips against Guang Hong’s shoulders. “Why’s that?”

 

“Because I already knew you were kind and sweet. Now I know that you’re  _ so _ kind and sweet you’ll follow me into danger just because I enjoy it. And… it’s really touching.”

 

“Is it?”

 

“ _ Really really _ touching, Leo. Like it makes me feel like a thousand butterflies are trying to escape from my chest.”

 

Leo pulled back at that, his eyes wide; but there was a hint of a smile starting to tug at the corner of his lips.

 

“You know… I get that same feeling when you do something incredibly reckless and then smile at me like- ‘Did you see that, Leo, I just took out three guys with one swing because I’m amazing.’” 

 

Guang Hong is pretty sure his cheeks burned red at that and his chest definitely felt like a thousand butterflies were trying to get out. Suddenly nervous, he darted his eyes away and looked out at the ocean before them; words spilling free before he could stop them.

 

“I never thought I’d find someone that understood that part of me, let alone someone that  _ liked _ it.”

 

“You’re wrong,” Leo cut in and Guang Hong turned abruptly to face him. “I  _ love _ that about you, Guang Hong,” he finished, his own cheeks blushing pink.

 

He moved before he could stop himself, his fingers curling into Leo’s hair and drawing him closer; words dancing across his lips the way they’d danced in the streets only an hour ago.

 

“And I love you. I have for… a very long time.”

 

Leo pressed a tentative kiss to his lips at that, slow and soft and gentle; but at the clutch of Guang Hong’s fingers tighter in his hair, it grew deeper, a whole flock of butterflies taking flight between them as their hearts beat as one.

 

They pulled apart right as the first firework shot up into the night sky and burst into vibrant color that now reflected in Leo’s eyes; both of them smiling softly at one another, not another word needed between them to say everything that was in their hearts.

 

* * *

 

 

It was now the fourth day since the eldest prince had last been seen and Captain Leroy was beginning to panic. Five days, the king had told him, five days to either find Prince Victor or arrest the Vermilion Rose…  _ or else _ . 

 

JJ took a steadying breath; he’d been chasing shadows the last three days for there was not even the slightest rumor about the whereabouts of either of his targets. When he’d overheard a drunk man in Chalcedon whispering to another about how he’d talked to the Vermilion Rose in Santa Lucia last night and that they were going to free Naissus next, JJ had made haste to the city the moment the sun had begun to rise. 

 

He didn’t have a single guard with him, for he’d not had time to send back to Sigrosk for backup; but as he checked in alleyways and anywhere that appeared a potential meeting place for suspicious types, he decided perhaps that was for the best. It would be much easier to conceal himself in the dark and narrow alley he thought had the highest chance of being their location; for had he other men with him there would be no way to hide amongst the cluster of crates without someone being noticeable.

 

Now all he had to do was wait. Wait and hope that he was right because the alternative was not an option. And when a dark carriage came to a stop right in front of the alleyway, he held his breath hoping that God had taken pity on him and his dire plight.

 

It was strange enough that a carriage would stop in such a seemingly random location, but it was the perfect alignment of the doors to the alley that made JJ think this really might be them.  Sure enough, the first man that stepped out might not have been masked, but he had a long black cloak with its hood drawn up to block his face from view; not exactly something normal in a midday crowd like this unless you were trying not to be noticed. 

 

But it was the second man that stepped from the carriage that really caught his attention, for there in that brilliant flash of red was none other than the leader of the Vermilion Rose.

 

“Go on. I’ll catch up!” he called into the carriage, and once he reached the ground it quickly moved on to leave the two men behind.

 

JJ took a deep breath as quietly as he could, the crates clearly giving the appearance that the alleyway was deserted; but even so, that man in red walked towards him and he managed to just dart out of sight behind the second crate as he peered through the cracks.

 

Had he been even a second slower, he would have been noticed; but as it was, the man returned to his companion thinking themselves to be alone. JJ’s hand drifted to his pistol and he waited, looking for the right opportunity to strike.

 

“Are you sure you can make it to Sigrosk okay alone?” the man in red asked.

 

“I told you not to worry about it. I’ll figure something out.”

 

“Victor.”

 

JJ tensed. Victor? No, not  _ that _ Victor - it couldn’t be!

 

“I’ve caused enough of a delay in your plans, Eros. Trust me, I’ll get back home safely.”

 

So, of those names he’d seen once before, Eros was the leader? JJ edged closer and wished his racing heart might quiet so he could hear their soft voices.

 

“Only if you’re absolutely certain. Philia and the others can manage without me. If you really want me to-”

 

The mysterious Victor chuckled, his voice low and flirtatious. “Oh, I always  _ want _ you.”

 

Something charged and fiery flickered through Eros’s eyes at that; and after glancing about once more, he quickly pushed Victor back against the building, the man’s hood falling off right as their lips met in a passionate kiss.

 

JJ’s heart lurched. It  _ was _ the prince! And somehow he and the Vermilion Rose were…

 

He could hear their heavy breaths as they finally parted, Eros tenderly caressing the prince’s face before tugging the hood back up to shield him.

 

“Go love, you’ve faced enough dangers already.”

 

Victor’s hands reached out to clutch his, the prince’s pale skin a sharp contrast to the black gloves he wore.

 

“Can you come tonight?”

 

Eros hesitated. “I’m not sure it’ll be safe for you.”

 

Victor laughed, gentle and light. “Darling, you’re the one breaking into the castle.”

 

He let go of Victor’s hands to reach up and press one over Victor’s heart.

 

“I’m not risking your safety anymore. If you were to be caught with me…”

 

Victor reached out once more, almost desperate now. “I know, but I’ll go mad without you in my arms tonight.”

 

Even from this distance, JJ could see how the words touched Eros; his gaze softening with affection as he replied.

 

“Give me tonight to make arrangements, then tomorrow I’ll send you word of where to find me. You’ll have to sneak out, but I think it’s safer that way for both of us.”

 

“I’d scale down that tower myself if I must to reach you.”

 

“No scaling, you’re injured.”

 

It fell silent and for one brief moment, JJ wondered if the whole strange affair was but a dream. Here were both the men he was seeking and somehow they were involved with one another; but JJ still wasn’t certain of Victor’s role in the picture. Was this his attempt at capturing the elusive man? Seduction? It would certainly explain why he seemed so dismissive of his brother’s attempts if his own was proceeding so well.

 

He chanced another glance only to find them both quietly nestled in each other’s arms; lingering as if they wanted to postpone separating even one second more.

 

A gunshot across town echoed through the air and all three of them froze a moment to listen after it.

 

“Go,” Victor said firmly.”Your men need their leader.”

 

Eros hesitated, reaching down to take Victor’s hands one last time.

 

“Be careful and know that I’ll be thinking of you.”

 

Victor closed the gap between them, pressing a slow and languid kiss to his lips before giving him one last smile.

 

“Be safe, darling. And know whatever happens, I love you.”

 

JJ waited, his heart hammering in a way that felt too loud, just long enough to let Eros depart before he quietly slipped around the crates and rushed up to secure a firm hand around Victor’s arm.

 

“Your highness.”

 

Victor turned with a start; and on realizing who had addressed him, the color drained from his face.

 

“Captain,” he replied, his tone clipped and tense.

 

JJ quickly let him go.

 

“Sorry to startle you, but I gather you’re headed back to to Sigrosk?”

 

He hadn’t meant to leverage it as a threat, but by the horror in Victor’s eyes, JJ realized he’d taken it as one.

 

Victor swallowed, his blue eyes suddenly piercing as he straightened to his full height.  

 

“Did you overhear that?”

 

JJ nodded.

 

He took a slow breath at that, ice and steel sharpening his gaze.

 

“Do what you must to me, Captain,” Victor stated cooly, “but if you attempt to go after him, I’ll be forced to stop you.”

 

It dawned on JJ then. It wasn’t a charade, no illusion of love to lure the Vermilion Rose into a trap; no it couldn’t be! For he could never recall seeing Victor, of all of the royal family, looking this deadly and serious.

 

JJ slowly raised pistol from where he held it to his side, and that look from the prince didn’t falter once.

 

Was he truly willing to sacrifice himself for this mysterious man? Why Victor had even implied the Vermilion Rose had been sneaking into the castle to meet with him! When had this happened? As his mind whirled through his memories for answers, it snagged on something and JJ’s eyes went wide.

 

Before he could say anything more, Victor reached out and pulled the pistol forward until it pressed up against his heart.

 

“Go ahead. Tell my father everything, I honestly don’t care what you do to me. But I’d rather die than betray him and no amount of torture will change my mind.”

 

JJ lowered the gun.

 

“You… really love him, don’t you?”

 

Something fiery settled in his eyes. “More than life itself.”

 

JJ dropped his gaze, honestly a bit shaken by everything, and slowly he put his pistol back in its holster before extending his hand out. Suddenly, the whole matter made perfect sense. 

 

He darted his eyes back up to the prince.

 

“And I thought Isabella had to be wrong when she said she thought you were suffering a broken heart.”

 

Victor stared and JJ let out a nervous laugh.

 

“Although it sounds like it’s all worked out now.”

 

Confusion settled into Victor’s brow and he eyed JJ’s hand warily.

 

“Your highness, I’m not going to arrest anyone for falling in love. Especially because I highly doubt you’ll be telling your father I let him get away and have been completely ignoring the fact that they’re probably taking over Naissus.”

 

JJ finally retracted his hand and used it to rub the back of his head.

 

“You know, your father never asked much about my military background in Arawak; he only cared about what rank and how many battles I’d won. Maybe if he’d asked more, he would have known I was proudly the captain of the Kébec division of the revolutionaries when southern Arawak gained its independence from Gaule and Brittony two years ago.”

 

The harshness in Victor’s eyes eased at that, still cautious but not quite as defensive.

 

“Then why…”

 

“Did I take a job from, no offense but, a complete asshole?” JJ shrugged. “There’s not many militaries hiring right now. Most of Eastern Amorica is still licking its wounds after losing their colonies in Arawak after all. And I’ve never been educated in any other field. I grew up as a soldier, so I took the first offer I got.”

 

He quickly snatched his pistol back out, flipping it to hold its handle towards Victor. He took it tentatively and looked to JJ with a question in his eyes.

 

“I know a commoner’s word isn’t worth much, but I didn’t sign up to murder people. I’ve been… actually pretty relieved that your boyfriend and his pals are so good at getting away because I went from just doing my job to being stuck in a position in which if I didn’t, someone I cared about might be hurt.”

 

The understanding settled over Victor immediately and he about fumbled the pistol when it did.

 

“My father threatened Isabella, didn’t he?”

 

“Threatened would be the nice way of putting it,” JJ replied.

 

Victor swore.

 

“I was to either capture the Vermilion Rose or bring you back in five days. Needless to say, I’m very glad it will be the second of those two I will be fulfilling. Now all we need to do is have the same explanation as to where you’ve been.”

 

Where there had been anger and fire now there was kindness and worry in Victor’s eyes, the prince handing the gun back to JJ with a tentative smile.

 

“I’ll do what I can to keep her safe, Captain. It’s the least I can do to repay your… acceptance of my situation.”

 

JJ took the gun and put it back, glad to know both of them understood he would not be using it, and extended his hand one more time.

 

“Love never picks what’s easy, but I guess that’s what makes it worthwhile.”

 

And he was relieved when this time Victor accepted his hand with a smile of his own.

 

“I couldn’t agree more, Captain.”

 

* * *

 

Victor knew the moment they arrived in Sigrosk, they would be watched.

 

He’d spent most of the carriage ride from Naissus whispering back and forth with the captain lest their driver overhear anything incriminating and they’d worked out the story they were going to present to the king.

 

The captain had suggested, and Victor had agreed, that the best story was one close enough to the truth that if anyone else happened to see Victor with any of the Vermilion Rose it would line up with their lie. It would also make it easier for both of them to keep the details identical so that his father couldn’t see through it.

 

The story was that Victor had gone undercover in hopes to get in with the Vermilion Rose and discover their secrets; but before he could return home, they discovered him and took him prisoner. As far as they were aware, he was just another guard and not anyone connected to the royal family and Victor had finally managed to escape from where they’d held him prisoner in Santa Lucia then made it north until he happened upon the captain.

 

But more than setting that matter straight, there was one other matter Victor knew he had to make clear now before it was too late.

 

“Captain, I want you to promise me that if my father at any time threatens to endanger you or anyone you care about for withholding something- betray me.”

 

“But your highness…”

 

“Please. I have accepted the risk of my decision and I will stand by it. So promise me, if he leverages you or those you love in exchange for information about me that you will tell him everything.”

 

The captain wrung his hands at that. “Only if you insist, your highness.”

 

“I do. The safety of my people comes first.”

 

He let out a heavy sigh before replying. “Hopefully it will never come to that, but I will do as you ask if it does.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

The captain leveled him with a hint of a smile in return. “You know this country would be a hell of a lot better if you were the one in charge, your highness. I’ve heard stories about your mother’s rule and it seems that you’ve truly taken after her.”

 

Victor felt the slightest smile curl his lips up at that, watching wistfully as the countryside blurred past. 

 

“Someday we’ll find that peace again. Someday soon, I hope.”

 

It wasn’t long before they arrived and, as Victor expected, they were requested to present themselves to the king immediately. Victor had just finished speaking with his father, his stomach a churning mess of stress now, and he’d told him to wait outside while he spoke with the captain. 

 

It was hard to tell if his father suspected what really happened. He clearly hadn’t been that worried about Victor’s absence, berating him for doing something so stupid by reminding him that if they knew who he was then  _ he’d _ be expected to give ransom for him. And Victor had the distinct impression that his father would very much prefer to let some enemy kill him off and leverage that as a reason to destroy them before he paid them anything for his safety. 

 

After days in Yamato with a family that truly cared about his well being, the sharp reminder that his own family could clearly not care less seeped sour into Victor’s stomach.

 

The door swung open and Victor steadied his breathing. If his father was at all suspicious, this would be when he’d be asked to justify his absence with the truth. But the captain gave him a hesitant smile, waiting for the door to close fully before finally speaking to Victor.

 

“Your father expects you at dinner at the normal time and has insisted that if you wish to do any further such attempts that you at least notify me of them beforehand.”

 

Victor let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. The combination of them both giving the same story with the same details was enough, Victor’s mask settling right back in place where it had been for years, obscuring his father as always from his true feelings on the matter.

 

“Thank you,” he replied, giving the captain a rare smile. It was all he could do now in the castle to try and express how grateful he was for the man’s understanding. 

 

The captain turned but before he could take but a few steps, Victor called after him.

 

“Jean-Jacques Leroy, correct?”

 

He spun back, the surprise evident in his eyes. King Demyan was never one for troubling himself with the names of people he didn’t deem worthy of his time, but Victor’s mother had always made special effort to learn every guard and servant and cook’s first and last name in the entire castle. It was about time Victor did the same.

 

“Yes, your highness. Or JJ for short.”

 

“Thank you, for everything, Captain Leroy. If you speak with Isabella, tell her I wish her well.”

 

He gave a cordial bow. 

 

“I will. And, your highness?”

 

He waited.

 

“Take care of yourself. He’s got enough to worry about without you adding to it.”

 

And although everyone around them surely thought the captain was merely admonishing him a bit on his father’s behalf, Victor understood immediately that the  _ he _ JJ spoke of was none other than a certain leader of the Vermilion Rose.

 

The smile split across his lips before he could stop it.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind, JJ.”

 

He made his way upstairs, his heart a lot lighter than he expected, for although he’d had his father’s apathy about his safety yet again confirmed, it appeared he’d in turn earned a rather unlikely ally. 

 

Christophe, of course, was thankful to see him; for even if they’d managed to get him a letter assuring him that Victor was alive lest he hear rumor of a silver haired Psyche being killed and think the worst, seeing Victor again in person clearly reassured him even more that he was alive and well.

 

And while Victor relaxed in the chair before a warm fireplace with Makkachin happily settling in his lap, Christophe had pulled his shirt open to begin to do his best at finding a way to hide the red thread from view. He’d been attired in a simple black waistcoat that did the job, but Victor’s father had a fair chance of seeing him without a waistcoat if he was to call upon him in his room as he sometimes did. And unlike his brother, Victor suddenly wearing dark colored shirts would definitely draw unwanted attention. 

 

“If I didn’t think your father would have a fit I’d just suggest wearing white stays under your garments.”

 

Victor shook his head. “Oh Lord no, if he even heard rumor that I wore one I’d be lectured for weeks. You know how he is about my attire remotely veering into the feminine.”

 

Christophe shook his head. “Do you think it’s safe to remove the thread?”

 

“The doctor that looked me over before I came back said it should stay in at least a week to be safe. Especially given how deep it was.”

 

He frowned, clearly thinking it over. “Well, you do have those two fancier shirts with the ruffles down the front. It won’t hide the one on the back, but since the ruffles flare out quite a bit it might cover the one on your chest.”

 

Victor looked down at it, the spot on his lower chest running down at least ten stitches from under his nipple, before he came to the flourish at the end and at that little KY, a fond smile settling on his lips.

 

“Then I’ll wear those. I’ll also need to find a handkerchief that’s not going to show bloodstains.”

 

Christophe looked slightly alarmed at that and Victor quickly clarified.

 

“It’s mostly stopped, but sometimes I still cough up a bit of blood. I should have that burgundy silk one and I believe a plum colored one?”

 

His attendant paused at that, settling a hand on Victor’s shoulder; and when he looked up he was met with that genuine worry that his father had not the slightest hint of on his face.

 

At least one soul in this whole castle had worried for him, Victor thought.

 

“I’ll see what outfits we can put together that incorporate those. Can I get you anything else?”

 

Victor reached up to settle his hand atop Christophe’s and he gave him a smile.

 

“No. But thank you, for worrying about me.”

 

He was about to continue, to try and put his gratitude into words as best as he could; for if there was one thing being around Yuuri and his friends and family had taught Victor, it was that he needed to cling to what little kindness he had around him in Sigrosk for it was as precious as the rarest of gemstones. But before he could, the door slammed open and the piercing green eyes of his brother’s met his across the room.

 

And Victor could already see how his eyes had traveled far enough that they had seen that flash of red upon his chest.

 

“You’re… injured?”

 

Victor winced. He’d really intended on  _ no one _ in the castle save Christophe find out about the matter, as it complicated the already threadbare lie that he’d used, and he tried to smile and laugh it off as if it wasn’t as bad as looked.

 

“It’s nothing serious.”

 

But Yuri had stormed across the room and was beside the chair, glaring at Christophe until he took a step back and waited beside the fireplace in silence. There was something brewing in his brother’s eyes and with a sickening jolt, Victor realized the natural conclusion he was probably making.

 

“Tch. Don’t lie to me,” he snapped. “You know what I’ve been studying.”

 

Victor did. Ever since the boy had lost his mother to an unknown illness, he’d been searching for the answer as to what it was; his knowledge on human illness and health rivaling that of renown doctors by now. He would know a stab wound when he saw one, no doubt about it.

 

“I’m in no immediate danger,” Victor tried again.

 

But Yuri swatted his hand away from where he’d placed it over the stitches; a flicker of worry in his eyes that made Victor feel as if he couldn’t stop him from inspecting it further. 

 

“Who did it?”

 

“Yuri, it’s not…”

 

“Who tried to kill you, Victor? Tell me so I can rip his spine out. Slowly.”

 

But what could Victor say? All he could do was hope his brother hadn’t heard the specifics of what he’d told his father, and even that was a slim chance of reprieve, and try and come up with something that he wouldn’t press further.

 

Yet before Victor could even manage a single attempt at a bluff, he noticed the little specks of moisture in the creases of his brother’s furious eyes, and his heart lurched. 

 

He had been wrong. His father might not of missed or worried about him, but… his brother had.

 

“You’re gone for  _ days _ and no one knows anything and then you turn back up with this?!” he rushed out, a catch in his voice that he’s clearly hoping Victor didn’t notice. “How dare they! How dare they try and kill you!”

 

Could he risk telling his brother the truth? No. No, his father still controlled him as if a puppet whether he realized it or not. Even if Yuri wouldn’t dare betray Victor’s trust, his father was a ruthless man who would have no problem seeing through the lie. Victor had become skilled at lying to his father, but Yuri’s temperament and high-strung emotions made it near impossible for him to do the same. 

 

He could trust his brother, but he couldn’t trust his father not to force his hand.

 

But that left an alternative that was far worse than the truth.

 

An alternative that his brother in his sharpness had clearly figured out if the growing fury in his eyes was any indication.

 

“Yuri, it’s nothing to trouble yourself with.”

 

He grabbed Victor’s shoulder forcefully and Victor hissed in pain despite every attempt not to do so; Yuri’s eyes gleaming now almost frantically with white hot rage.

 

“This is not the time for kindness, Victor! An inch or more up and you would have been dead!”

 

He stared as the fire of his brother’s rage grew stronger, overwhelmingly so.

 

“It was their leader, wasn’t it?”

 

At that, Victor’s horror registered, but Yuri could only see it as an answer; his sneer turning deadly sharp.

 

“Fine. Then I will be the one to kill him. I don’t care if you still want the crown, but I will not let  _ this _ go unpunished. I will not let him get away with trying to murder my brother!”

 

Victor’s voice hitched as he tried to find any words that could undo what he’d done, that could spare his beloved from being the target of his brother’s righteous fury; but never one to understand Victor’s true emotions, Yuri took it as a sign he was touched by his nobility.

 

“I will kill the leader of the Vermilion Rose, Victor. And I will not let you and your soft heart stop me.”

 

Yuri turned and stormed out, the slam of the door making the whole room feel as if it shook; Victor’s world shaking with it.

 

There was nothing he could do. The damage had been done.


	14. A Family Matter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I apparently really suck at outlining and deciding how long scenes for this story are actually going to be when written out. So I basically added another chapter to try and solve the pacing issues I was having otherwise (´⊙ω⊙`)！
> 
> I'll try and post them up as soon as possible, but I do work retail and it's Black Friday weekend so it's a little crazy, so there may be an update or two in between the usual Monday/Friday ones.
> 
> ALSO! This chapter has an added Mature-rated Victuuri scene that you can click on to read as its own little oneshot, but the story can still be enjoyed without it.

It had not seemed like such an impossible task that morning, when they’d parted ways in Naissus, but the longer the day wore on the more Victor found himself yearning for Yamato and the warmth of one man’s smile. His only relief had been, as small as it was, the fact that his brother had seemingly spent his day in the library going through medical texts; for at least that conveyed more than Yuri might ever say about his worry for Victor, but it also meant his vendetta against Yuuri had yet to be acted upon.

 

Victor had spent the afternoon frantically giving Christophe whispered instructions of what to do if the truth of his circumstances came to light, hoping that if his father did find out he could at least spare Makkachin and Christophe from his wrath. He knew his father well enough to know that he wouldn’t hesitate to use Victor’s kindness against him if it was necessary.

 

It was a dangerous game they now played and Victor wanted to do all he could to minimize that danger for anyone, be it his companions or Yuuri and his friends; so hoping no one noticed him slip out as Victor went to dinner, he sent Christophe to the docks hoping a certain ship had docked there so he might get a message to its owner.

 

But as much as he worked to protect those he cared for, he had no recourse to protect himself.

 

Yuri was in a ranting mood that evening and before Victor could stop his tirade, he’d brought up the injury.

 

“Those bastards just missed his heart, you know!”

 

Victor had tensed, already trying to think of a way to divert any questions his father might ask; but Demyan merely glanced up from his food and gave Victor a single look, clearly unmoved, before replying.

 

“Hmph it’s about time.”

 

The words might as well have been a blade, coldly shoved right in through his heart.

 

“W-what?”

 

Demyan scoffed, clearly upset that Victor _dared_ act shocked by his statement.

 

“By your age I’d been stabbed countless times. Maybe now you’ll respect my sacrifices for you boys more.”

 

Victor felt hollow, as if the coldest Larussian winter had chilled him to the core and left him frozen and brittle; the ice that had enveloped his heart shattering as the words impacted. He held back tears, trying to think of Yuuri’s family, so kind and caring and loving; but even their warmth couldn’t spare him against the wrath of his father.

 

“Don’t be a weakling like your mother now and die from infection. You’re a man, you’re better than that.”

 

His chair clattered to the floor as he hastily got to his feet, unable to bear being in the room even a moment longer with this monster.

 

“May I be excused?” Victor somehow managed to choke out.

 

Demyan looked up and his blue eyes cold upon him; his lips curling into a sneer.

 

“Only if you join me tomorrow for the hunt. You’ve been avoiding me too much lately by skipping meals and I refuse to allow it further.”

Victor darted his eyes to his brother, who had gone still, and pleaded wordlessly for his help; and thank God, the boy still had some warmth left in him, for he spoke up in his brother’s defense.

 

“I think almost getting killed earns him some excuse,” Yuri said, voice far more cautious than Victor had ever heard it before. “Plus, I wanted to go and you promised me I could last time.”

 

Demyan had probably made no such promise, but unimportant matters like that weren’t things he generally remembered. He waved a dismissive hand.

 

“Fine. But I’m not letting you continue to ignore your duties. You _will_ be at the ball on Friday unless you’re on your deathbed. Is that understood?”

 

Victor hoped the relief didn’t appear as visible on the outside, for this was one request he was actually _glad_ to adhere to, for Yuuri’s sake.

 

“Of course, Father. I wouldn’t dare miss it.”

 

Thus appeased, Victor was finally allowed to leave; barely making it from the dining hall to the tower stairs before he felt tears pricking hot at the corners of his eyes. He tried, he really _tried_ , but he only managed to make it halfway up the stairs before he had to stop and press his head against the stone walls to calm himself; his breath ragged and his heart aching.

 

It was painful to realize that he couldn’t tell if his father’s spiteful remarks were because he suspected Victor had turned on him or just because he honestly felt that coldly towards him; even more painful because Victor knew either way it would hurt the same.

 

He heard footsteps echoing loudly on the stairs behind him and he froze, desperately wanting to run but knowing it would only make things worse; a loyal servant of his father’s would easily turn on Victor for the right pay.

 

But, to his surprise, it was Yuri.

 

Eyes sharp but not judgemental when he caught Victor’s gaze.

 

“You owe me,” he mumbled.

 

Victor took a deep breath and managed to force the words free. “I know.”

 

Yuri averted his gaze, staring at the opposite wall. “You shouldn’t be riding on a horse for a few more days or you might open your stitches or stress your wound further.”

 

He turned in bewilderment towards his brother.

 

“What?” he snapped. “I’m not _heartless_.”

 

Victor knew what he’d left unsaid, could hear it in the air between them in sad yet resigned refrain _\- like Father_.

 

“Go rest. I’ll have someone bring you food,” Yuri muttered briskly.

 

The shock must’ve finally cracked through his mask of indifference at that, for Yuri’s eyes had a moment of concern in them clearly visible before he shrugged and glanced away.

 

“Father can bitch me out for it if someone rats us out. You’re _injured_ , you need to eat.”

 

Victor nodded. “I… thank you.”

 

Yuri turned with a scoff, but unlike their father’s it was just for show. “Be careful, idiot.”

 

He couldn’t hold it back any longer and Victor quickly took the two steps down and wrapped his brother in an awkward hug.

 

“I’ll make it up to you, somehow,” he breathed out.

 

Yuri gave him a brief pat on his back, as if truly unsure how hugs worked; and then stepped back and looked away. Where Victor had hidden all his life behind a mask of indifference, Yuri had taken up a different mask; one where he tried to act like he didn’t care because it was so much easier than admitting he didn’t know how to show affection because he’d never received it.

 

“You’d better,” he shot back, but his mask had cracked too and his worry couldn’t be any more obvious on his face.

 

Victor going missing had, somehow, chipped away at that tough exterior his brother had built up; perhaps because all they really had was each other to call family. He’d worried that his father had become too much of a controlling force, and still didn’t feel he could risk telling his brother the truth without possibly endangering him as well, but somehow underneath all that prickly exterior, there was still a kind boy hidden deep down inside.

 

Yuri’s mother, Yulia Plisetskaya, might not have been a kind hearted queen like Victor’s mother had, but she’d had to grow sharp and cold in Rodiania to reach the crown; for with two factions claiming equal rights to the crown after the former ruler’s death, it was the only way she could have endured the battle. But she did it for her people. Even if their mothers were different, they both had that in common; both of them would do whatever they must for their people.

 

And like his mother before him, Yuri thought the best way to do that was to find a way to claim the crown.

 

The food that arrived was not what they’d originally been served for dinner, but the servant explained that Yuri had chosen specific foods for Victor that were to help him heal; red grapes that had to be from Apulia, cherries that were expensive imports, ocean caught salmon and a ginger tea that was not as good as the Katsuki’s but still made him feel much better.

 

When Christophe returned, Victor sent him with thanks to his brother before opening the letter from Yuuri.

 

Yuuri had, as he’d promised, made arrangements for the next evening so they didn’t have to spend these stressful days apart; wisely he simply set up a small shop as a tailor in Sigrosk where he was able to sell last-minute dresses and suits to those scrambling to find something suitable for the ball. And no one would think anything strange of the letter either, for of course Victor’s tailor would inform him that if he needed to contact him for any last minute adjustments to his outfit he could be reached at a certain address.

 

Even if tomorrow felt like years away that night, Victor held onto that letter like a lifeline.

 

If his father went hunting the next morning, that meant he’d be gone until at least dinner and Victor could find a way to endure with the knowledge that being in Yuuri’s arms was only hours away. It was supposed to be an _easy_ day, not pleasant but not bad.

 

Ah, but how wrong he’d been.

 

He’d been woken by a servant bringing him his breakfast, for they rarely gathered in the dining hall except when their father made them, and their strange instructions about his drink had given him pause.

 

“Your father said this drink is for your health and that you should drink all of it.”

 

“What is it?” Victor had asked.

 

The servant shook their head. “I’m not sure. He just told us to use this cup and let the wine stay in it overnight.”

 

Perhaps they’d misunderstood and it had been from his brother?

 

Victor asked them to check and let them leave, for whatever it was it was definitely not their fault in anyway; but something about it unsettled him in a way that he couldn’t quite place. First of all, the idea that his _father_ had sent something for his health didn’t sound right, as rarely did his father do anything without calculated reason and kindness was not ever a factor.

 

It was probably from Yuri and he was just panicking for no reason.

 

“It really just appears to be wine, sire,” Christophe had reassured him. “I can’t see anyone in the kitchen letting them slip poison into it.”

 

That much was true. And Victor knew Isabella practically lived in the kitchen so it would be hard to enter without her noticing, and she’d definitely not let someone tamper with a drink intended for one of the princes; but something about the cup still bothered him.

 

Then it clicked, his fingertips tracing the scalloped pattern along its base, where he’d seen the cup before; it had been at his mother’s bedside when she was dying, and the doctor had given her wine from it that was meant to cleanse her system of the impurities that were troubling her.

 

No wonder it seemed so troubling to him, if the last time he saw it was then.

 

He went to pick it up, but Christophe paused his hand.

 

“Sire, let me first. Just to be safe.”

 

Victor knew Christophe would be understanding if he explained that it was only his memories that made the cup seem so ominous, but before he could he’d plucked it out of his hands and taken a sip.

 

With a visible recoil.

 

“It’s… kind of metallic,” he muttered.

 

Victor couldn’t explain it, for it wasn’t as if Christophe was immediately dying or in any sort of visible pain, but something about that set his teeth on edge. Hadn’t his mother said something like that once? Complaining about the medicine the doctors were giving her? But remembering that only seemed to make him even more worried and he couldn’t shake the feeling.

 

“Chris, can you have the guard at the door see if my brother has already left with father?”

 

He looked in fine health, not a problem in speech or motion; and as always, was quick to do as Victor asked of him.

 

“Of course. Do you want me to go?”

 

“No. Stay here.”

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

Victor shook his head. “Hopefully nothing.”

 

It had been almost a half an hour by the time Yuri was brought to the door. Apparently he had been about to ride out but once he heard it was Victor asking after him he’d found a way to send Demyan off without him.

 

But it was obvious he thought the problem was with Victor.

 

“What’s wrong?” he’d snapped the moment the door opened.

 

Victor waited for the door to close before gesturing to the cup where it had sat untouched since Christophe’s one test.

 

“This was sent up with my breakfast this morning, by father, for my health. Chris took a taste and said it was metallic, and I seem to recall my mother having a similar cup at her bedside when she was… sick. Maybe I’m worrying over nothing but…”

 

Yuri’s green eyes grew sharp as they fell on the cup then darted his eyes back up to Victor. “Why would an antimonial cup help your health?”

 

“A what?”

 

“It’s meant to induce vomiting,” Yuri explained, his eyes now darting from the cup to Christophe before back to Victor. “There’s no reason a wound like yours would warrant it.”

 

“It tasted like wine, just a bit metallic,” Chris clarified.

 

Victor watched as Yuri hastily went to the door and rushed out a mouthful of instructions before turning back and pointing at Chris.

 

“Grab the wash basin, you’re going to need it.”

 

“Is he going to be okay?” Victor asked, his brother’s strange actions making him wary.

 

“Just one sip?” he asked.

 

Christophe nodded.

 

“Once you vomit, you’re going to need to drink some flaxseed tea. Then some strong oak bark tea. If the metallic taste is that pronounced, we’ve got to get it out of you before it gets worse.”

 

Thousands of questions whirled in Victor’s mind, but all of them came back to the same, over and over again- _there’s no reason a wound like yours would warrant it._

 

His father never did anything without a reason.

 

He turned to his brother, knowing his eyes had to be showing more than he wanted by the way he blinked in surprise.

 

“So he tried to poison me?”

 

Yuri darted his eyes away. “If it was anyone else, I’d say he just didn’t know better. Some people swear by these damn cups, but they’re too risky. If the wine is just a tad too acidic, it becomes poison.”

 

The words settle like rocks into his stomach and he asked the one question he almost didn’t want the answer to.

 

“Yuri, I know you were little, but do you remember a cup like this around your mother in that last week she was alive?”

 

His brother’s eyes went wide and Victor knew with a sickening jolt that the boy had realized what he was really asking; Victor’s injury wouldn’t warrant it, and now he had a terrible feeling that neither of their mothers had a condition that had warranted it either.

 

There was no time to answer, for the effects of it had finally come to Christophe; both brothers rushing to his side and doing their best to help him keep the basin steady. Yuri reassured him that with such a small amount, all he had to do was vomit or flush it out and he should live; but it was still a horrifying thought to realize how close they’d come.

 

Victor had declined dinner again that night, saying that he wanted to stay and watch the health of his attendant; but when Yuri joined him in Christophe’s room only a few minutes later, he realized he’d skipped it as well.

 

“Victor…”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“What do we do now?”

 

And God, how Victor wanted to tell him everything Yuuri had planned, wanted to say that they only had to survive a few more days before the promise of something better; but before him laid the reality of sharing with those he cared for and he held his tongue.

 

There was poison in this household, and it had been in their blood for years. Victor had planned, and still here he was at Chris’s bedside praying for his life. He couldn’t put Yuri through that, couldn’t risk that his father might turn on him next.

 

“What do we do?”

 

He let out a heavy sigh and settled a hand on his brother’s shoulder, surprised when Yuri allowed it to linger.

 

“Survive.”

* * *

 

**[Chapter 14.5 Eros and Psyche, Reunited (M-Rated, Victuuri scene)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16669357) **

* * *

 

Yuuri knew the potential, had been quite aware, that even that brief day and half apart could change everything; for the fact was Victor returning to his father was a risk whether they liked to consider it or not. He just didn’t like finding out how right he was.

Victor had arrived the night before and pretty much fallen into Yuuri’s arms, desperate and pleading in a way unlike anything Yuuri had ever seen; and certainly for reasons that weren’t just due to the hours apart. But Victor had requested that they not talk of it, asking in a way that tore Yuuri’s heart in two to give him no reason to think, only asking for something to feel.

 

It had been slow in a way their first amorous encounter had not, sensual and loving and _gentle_. Victor had come to him like that shattered teacup, fragmented and damaged, and asked for Yuuri’s love to be the gold lacquer that repaired those pieces back into a whole; for it no longer mattered how he’d been broken, only that Yuuri held the key to healing those wounds so fresh in his heart.

 

Goldwork in embroidery was difficult, a skill only a few could master, a technique that laid the shimmering threads atop the fabric gently and ornately and left behind a beautiful pattern that was beyond comparison. It might not penetrate the base fabric, but it covered it in a way that made it an afterthought.

 

Victor had unraveled at his touch just like those golden and silver threads, Yuuri’s hands delicately taking him apart and then stitching him back in threads now made shining with his love; for he might not be able to truly erase the troubles that weighed on Victor’s heart, but he could make them an afterthought, wrapping his heart in love until all the worries underneath were smothered out.

 

And in the morning light, Victor’s bared skin shimmered like the most beautiful goldwork in the world.

 

Yuuri shushed any apologies with kisses, smoothed fingers over skin tense with worry, and gently held Victor in his arms until he felt ready to talk; for _oh_ how did he understand the need to just forget everything for a night.

 

Then, when Victor felt ready, he told Yuuri. Everything.

 

The captain finding him in Naissus. Their lie to his father. His brother finding out and blaming Yuuri for his injury. His father’s comments at dinner made only worse by the incidents of the next morning. And the terrible implications that now weighed upon Victor’s heart.

 

Yuuri gave everything in return that he could. Gone was his hesitance about telling Victor about their true plans, for Victor _needed_ to know there was a better future. Yuuri had promised him that their plans would give them a way to be together, and at the time that had been enough; but now Victor needed further reassurance that all would be well.

 

All they had to do was risk Yuuri’s safety for one night, then everyone would get their happy ending.

 

And by the time Yuuri finished explaining how allowing Demyan to arrest him at the ball would put them in the position for the emperor to move against him, he could tell that something like hope had taken up residence in Victor’s heart where all those fresh cracks filled with gold were.

 

Knowing there was a future for them, for Apulia, for Larussia’s princes _and_ people?

 

 _It was worth more than gold_.

 

* * *

 

It had only been three days since JJ had found Victor in Naissus and he could already tell that there was a storm brewing.

 

Information they’d managed to get from the south was to be expected, news of the smaller towns now being just as barricaded as the cities, and Tarraco and Velia on constant alert knowing that they’d surely be next. JJ honestly wasn’t surprised when he got word that the planned attack on Tarraco was to take place on Friday, right before the King’s ball; the rebels were smart, they knew he would keep his forces in Sigrosk for that event which left the Velian forces not only isolated but unlikely to receive any help from the north.

 

But the rumors in the castle had gotten progressively more and more concerning, if servant hearsay was to be believed at least. The youngest prince had made it no secret that he was going to find a way into Tarraco on Friday, and JJ felt obliged to go with him to ensure his safety even if the king refused to spare any other men. But ever since Victor’s attendant had fallen mysteriously ill yesterday, servants had speculated wildly if it was a poison intended for the prince that had been the source.

 

A source made all the more worrisome by the rumors that it had been the king himself that requested his son be given the drink.

 

Many of the household were quick to defend the king, clearly not wanting any accusations of treason directed their way; but many others were quietly whispering about fights at dinner and the fact that the two brothers had spent more time together in the library than they had in years.

 

JJ had worried that perhaps the king did have knowledge of the real reason for Victor’s absence, causing him to be even more worried about Isabella’s safety than he had been previously. In fact, if he wasn’t on guard or needed elsewhere, he could almost always be found in the kitchen; for the king was quick to accept JJ’s excuse of “wanting to put the poisoning rumors to rest” as valid reason for doing so.

 

So he was there early Thursday morning, the sun’s rays just beginning to sneak over the horizon, when a quiet knock sounded on the back door and Isabella went to get it.

 

To JJ’s surprise, it was Victor.

 

And he definitely looked happier and more relaxed than he usually did around the castle.

 

“Good morning, Isabella. Oh and hello Captain!”

 

JJ could see the worry in Isabella’s eyes, darting from Victor to JJ and back, and he had to fight back the urge to laugh. Clearly, he’d not been the only person covering for the prince’s… situation.

 

“Have a good night?” JJ asked.

 

Victor’s blush and hesitant rub at a bruise beneath his ear spoke more than any answer he could have given; and much to his relief, Isabella saved him the dignity of trying to come up with a reply.

 

“He just went out for a morning walk, JJ,” Isabella said, but her lie wasn’t that convincing given the nervous way she kept looking to Victor.

 

And really, JJ couldn’t help himself at that.

 

“Catch any elusive sorts while you were out?”

 

Victor had gathered his composure by now and countered it skillfully. “They’re only elusive if you don’t know where to look, Captain. I’m lucky to know where my favorite rose can be found at night, for example.”

 

He chuckled, turning to Isabella with a smile. “It appears we’re both too kind to our dear prince.”

 

She’d crossed the room at that, wrapping JJ in a warm hug in reply.

 

“I knew you were a good man, JJ. I’m glad to be proven right.”

 

Victor had made his way through the kitchen at that, pausing at the doorway that lead towards his quarters.

 

“Isabella, JJ, thank you both once more for your kindness.”

 

And with a gentle nod of a bow, he disappeared up the stairs. JJ turned his attention back to Isabella, who was still smiling at him warmly.

 

“I had no idea you knew,” she said quietly. “Did you notice him sneaking out too?”

 

“Something like that,” JJ answered.

 

Isabella went back to the pastries she’d been working on, a happy smile settled now on her lips.

 

“I think it’s great. I know his father wouldn’t approve, but really. His tailor really is the sweetest man I’ve met.”

 

He was glad she had her back to him, because he knew his surprise showed at the remark. It appeared, probably for her own safety, Victor had given an altered version of the truth yet again; and that was when JJ thought about it. He’d met the tailor Isabella spoke of a few times, had greeted him on most occasions he’d come to the castle in fact. But if this was yet another lie like the one they’d told the king…

 

JJ stumbled back, leaning against the nearest counter in shock; within seconds, Isabella had worriedly come over to check on him.

 

“JJ, what’s wrong?”

 

_How had he not noticed it before? The prince’s tailor… the Vermilion Rose….  It was the same man!_

 

He laughed.

 

“Nothing, nothing,” he murmured. “I’m just… how did we not see it before now?”

 

Thankfully, Isabella didn’t realize the same fact he had, easily believing him to still be discussing their own assistance to the prince; and JJ thought it might be best that way. That was the kind of knowledge that could get someone killed these days, and it wasn’t something he wanted to burden her with.

 

But still…

 

“Isabella?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I can’t say specifics, as I’ve promised the prince that much; but if there is ever a time that man or any of his associates come and ask for help, please let me know.”

 

He could see the worry settle into her forehead, and he closed the space between them to press a soft kiss there, willing it away. He could protect her, even if he couldn’t save anyone else, he could do that much.

 

“Okay. I will. But… I hope it doesn’t come to something like that.”

 

JJ let out a sigh, staring up at the ceiling that separated them from the stairs and the prince’s quarters.

 

“Me too, Isabella. For all our sakes.”

 

* * *

 

It was Friday morning and Tarraco was just as swarming with Velian guards as Yuuri had expected it to be.

 

They’d already isolated the two southern cities from any assistance in the north by road, and with the former king and queen of Apulia being held in Velia’s prison it was pretty much a given that they’d come for them sooner or later. Yuuri had thought it over for days and had finally come up with one final plan that would give Sara and Mila the best shot at it; for scheduling it on the same day that he knew the king’s guards would be preparing for the Vermilion Rose attending their ball would split the forces.

 

All they had to do was make a huge scene in Tarraco earlier in the day, make it big and bad enough that they called on the Velian guards for backup, and then capture and imprison all the guards to leave Velia mostly unguarded; and, of course, do all of it in time to still get back to Sigrosk in time for the ball.

 

Phichit referred to it as a “true Yuuri plan” which was his nice way of saying it was insane and incredibly risky and dangerous.

 

Yuuri had spent his few days in Yamato well, reaching out to any of the samurai that had wanted to help Apulia in the past and calling upon their help; for as much as he knew Sara didn’t want bloodshed, Yuuri knew the Larussians wouldn’t hesitate so they might as well be prepared.

 

Minako was now with Sara and Mila in Limsa with those Yamato men and women, making their plans for Velia and gathering their allies from all the neighboring towns; all of them ready to strike the moment Yuuri and his friends gave the signal that Tarraco had been taken.

 

Which brought them to the current situation.

 

If you want to make a scene, attract every guard in the area and guarantee that they’ll call for backup, it was actually pretty easy. At least it was if you were the Society of the Vermilion Rose.

 

Their flashy outfits did as they always had, quickly distracting the guards from any common people who might be helping them, and successfully gathered what appeared to be about half of the Velian battalion into the town square; all their rifles aimed at the four men who stood in the middle as if they’d been caught like that day in Ofantina.

 

Except, this time this _was_ the plan and the only trick was not letting the guards realize that until it was too late.

 

“Drop your weapons!” one of the men, possibly their commander, yelled out.

 

“You drop yours first!” Phichit called back.

 

The four of them snickered to themselves, even as they heard the cocking of the rifles.

 

“I mean it’s not like you can shoot us,” Guang Hong added in.

 

“Yeah, that would get you into _so_ much trouble!” Leo noted.

 

Sure enough, the commander took the bait.

 

“What are you talking about? Dead or alive, that’s the orders!”

 

Yuuri grinned, staring the man down as he smoothly replied.

 

“Haven’t you heard? The prince has declared he’d be the one to take my life. And if he gets here to find out you shot me first....”

 

He let out a long low whistle.

 

“I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes, trying to explain that to him.”

 

It had the desired effect, the lower ranked guards all relaxing their positions; some of them even asking those around them if they’d heard of this rumor. The commander, of course, hadn’t wavered, but by now all of his men had.

 

“Agape,” Yuuri whispered.

 

He nodded.

 

“Ready Ludus?” Guang Hong asked quietly.

 

Leo nodded as well.

 

“Now!”

 

The four of them moved as one, each a blur of color as the soldiers tried to discern what was happening, the machinations of a well-planned attack coming to fruition one step at a time.

 

Guang Hong turned sharply left, leveled his pistol for the shot and fired; the bullet perfectly aimed to careen right down the barrel of the rifle the commander held. He wisely dropped it and moved, the rifle shattering into pieces as the bullet hit.

 

The confusion here was crucial, for having heard a gunshot now all eyes were on Guang Hong; no one noticing that Leo had reached to his hip and unfurled a well-braided lasso which he quickly spun up into the air and then expertly around a good dozen or more men, a hearty tug easily bringing them all to their feet.

 

They had wisely done their best to make sure the guards could only surround them on _three_ sides, not four; using the walls of the Tarraco prison as a backdrop to their spectacle. Leo had cleared the right side, the commotion with the gunshot had scattered the left side and now Phichit moved towards the center.

 

The chaos around them had ensured that the guards were looking everywhere but at the green and gold blur that darted forward; Phichit’s blades fast enough to knock rifles out of hands or cut superficial wounds on arms and legs.

 

Soon, all the guards were in disarray and easy prey for the common people who they’d literally turned their backs on unthinkingly; and armed with frying pans and shovels and the like, the Apulian people of Tarraco took care of any soldiers that had remained standing. Well, except for that one soldier that had run off towards Velia for help; but then again, they were _counting_ on that.

 

And, right on cue, the doors to the prison opened; a radiant Psyche standing there victoriously.

 

Yuuri had insisted if Victor was to join them again, that he arm himself with _something_ , and it came to light he’d actually been trained. In fencing, at least. And with a court sword that looked like it had been nicked out of the royal armory, probably because it _had_ , in beautiful blues and gold, Victor had easily taken care of all the guard that had been remaining in the prison itself.

 

As the townspeople helped bundle up the unconscious or minorly injured soldiers into the prison to put them into the very sturdy cells, Yuuri allowed himself a moment of simple joy at Victor’s presence there with them. He held out a hand towards him and Victor ran the short distance between them to take it; Yuuri pulling him into a one-armed hug the moment he was close enough to do so.

 

“I _knew_ you could do it by yourself,” he said proudly. “I _knew_ it!”

 

Victor couldn’t seem to help himself, the shower of praise from Yuuri with his own rush of excitement too much to be held back much more, and he paused to press a searing kiss to Yuuri’s lips in his joy.

 

“Only because you believed in me,” he replied pulling back, his hat having shadowed them from view.

 

“Hey, lovebirds,” Phichit said, his voice a little tense. “We’ve got company.”

 

Yuuri hadn’t thought the Velian forces could have made it there that fast, but once he saw the two figures riding at the lead he understood why they’d come. This wasn’t reinforcements from the lone soldier who’d escaped, this was a guard for a prince.

 

Prince Yuri’s eyes were trained onto Yuuri as soon as he was close, piercing and deadly green like a viper ready to strike. Victor had warned him, explained that it was his fault that had turned his brother on this murderous path, but seeing it in person was different.

 

Even from the distance that remained between them, Yuuri could feel the animosity in his gaze.

 

“Psyche, get in the prison. Now,” he’d managed to mumble out.

 

But as he turned to make sure Victor knew just what risk he was in, he noticed not only his tense posture but his own piercing and deadly gaze; aimed not at his brother or the good captain that rode with him, but at the commander of the Velian regiment.

 

“Psyche?”

 

“It’s him. The one who stabbed me.”

 

Suddenly, Yuuri understood why he’d not gone to hide the moment his brother came. It was a matter of pride to stand here before that man _alive and well_. It was no longer Yuuri’s place to tell him to go.

 

“What do you want to do, Psyche?”

 

Victor drew his blade, the bright and well-polished sword gleaming out in the sunlight.

 

“I wasn’t a coward then and I shall not be one now.“

 

Yuuri looked to Phichit, knowing he’d see the problem for what it was, and he gestured to Leo and Guang Hong.

 

“We can get all but those two, but I’m not even trying for the prince. And Psyche has every right to give that bastard hell.”

 

He nodded. If he could just keep Yuri focused on him and draw their fight away from Victor’s fight, hopefully he wouldn’t recognize the familiar face beneath a wig and makeup.

 

Yuri jumped down from his horse, his hand at his sword immediately, and he began towards Yuuri.

 

“This one’s mine. Don’t anyone interfere, got that?”

 

“Yes, sire,” the captain replied, shooting a warning look at the Velian commander.

 

“Can we kill the rest of them?” he asked.

 

But as they brought their horses to a halt, preparing to dismount, the Vermilion Rose had already risen up to meet them.

 

Leo threw out something he called a bolas, the small weighted balls on the rope easily wrapping themselves around the horse in the center’s legs; tipping it and rider over and into the other men. And Phichit and Guang Hong were ready, both of them darting in as fast as lightning to strike while the men were disoriented and down.

 

And hands free once more, Leo pulled out his lasso again and used it once more to round up a bundle of guards into one convenient little problem. It left three- the commander, the captain and the prince.

 

And the prince had eyes for nothing but Yuuri, not hesitating or saying a word more before he charged forward and brought his blade slashing down at Yuuri’s face.

 

He countered it easily, the movement easy to read from a distance, but the force of it caused him to stagger back a few steps. Hearing about his anger had been one thing, _feeling_ it channeled into a piece of metal swung at his head was something else.

 

“Well, hello to you as well,” Yuuri quipped, hoping to use it to lower his guard for a moment.

 

Yuri drew back, then made another attempt at a strike; Yuuri’s blade just barely catching it in time.

 

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that. I saw what you did to my brother and I’m not leaving here until you are dead.”

 

Yuuri kept pressure on the parry, both of them locked into, and took a moment to find Victor in his peripheral vision. He was to the left, walking towards the commander with a grace and poise only a prince could have in a situation like this.

 

“I didn’t hurt your brother,” Yuuri shot back.

 

He knew it might be futile, but keeping him talking would keep him from focusing too much on his attacks. And with his anger behind it, it was already hard enough to try and counter it; let alone trying to get an attack of his own in return.

 

Yuri moved expertly, switching the weight on his feet to change the angle at which his blade was held; Yuuri having to use all his strength just to keep it at bay.

 

“No, you almost _killed_ him!”

 

Yuuri dropped down, allowing the prince to stumble over his back and then whirling around to try and get in a hit. Yuri blocked it.

 

“I swear on my honor,” Yuuri replied. “I have not, and I will never try and harm him.”

 

“And why should I believe you?”

 

They both moved, once more swords clashed in a gridlock.

 

“Because I’ve never tried to kill any of you and neither have my friends.”

 

That seemed to cause a moment of doubt, something Yuuri couldn’t even see through the thick anger in his eyes, but could feel in how his grip of the sword shifted.

 

“You know that’s true!” Yuuri continued, hoping he could push it further. “Even when alone in that carriage with a gun at your head, my friend who was _shot_ by your men didn’t shoot you.”

 

Yuri’s hold weakened, ever so slightly.

 

“I could have killed you in the forest that day, but it never crossed my mind even once. I’m _trying_ to keep people alive!”

 

“You’re picking the wrong side then!” he retorted, but now the doubt had begun to seep into his voice as well.

 

“I didn’t pick sides. I did what was _right_.”

 

The swords grated against one another, the tension between them snapping as they both stepped back and stare the other one down.

 

“ _You_ almost had my friend killed. Why? Because he was helping people who did nothing wrong?”

 

“He broke the law!”

 

“The law is wrong!”

 

In a blur of silver the two blades crashed together once more, the only thing keeping Yuuri focused was that other blur of silver behind them, expertly dodging the commander’s strikes.

 

“The tax was unfair and when they dared speak out against it, your father tried to have them _killed_!”

 

There was hesitance in his blade once more, so slight, like a small opening that Yuuri knew if he could just keep driving at it he could make it wider; like a rip in a fabric, he just needed to know which threads to pluck.

 

“You cannot tell me you and your brother agreed with your father’s plans!” Yuuri yelled out, his own eyes trying their best to pierce that mask that the young prince had no idea he wore. “You can’t tell me the children of two kind and strong women would agree with having seventeen people executed for trying to keep their homeland.”

 

It was the right thread, the tension in the blade now tremulous.

 

“I’m fighting this battle for you too! I’m not fighting against you. I’m fighting against the king who has brought this oppressive and hateful rule upon everyone in this country. The king that doesn’t care when his own son goes missing for days!”

 

There’s a flicker of something in green eyes and Yuuri can feel the shift on the hilt telling him that his opponent was hesitating and thinking about withdrawing. One more thread and it would snap.

 

Yuuri risked it all on one chance.

 

“Don’t you want to be free too?”

 

His hold buckled, and Yuuri’s sword was quick to disarm him and drive his blade at his throat as he stumbled back onto the ground.

 

“I don’t want freedom like this,” the boy replied, voice thick with emotions held back. Even now, he was putting on a brave, tough face.

 

“I’ve never harmed your brother and I will never harm you, Yuri.”

 

Green eyes go wide at the boldness of him forgoing any titles.

 

“You’re just as much a victim here as everyone else,” Yuuri continued quietly, lowering his blade as he kicked Yuri’s further away. He gave a sad smile down at the boy. “I’d best get you back in a carriage headed home. Your brother, at least, will be worried sick if you aren’t in time for the ball tonight.”

 

Yuri stood up slowly, eyes darting to his sword and then back to Yuuri; but he was a smart, a sharp kid when he wasn’t letting his anger do the thinking, and he could tell it was no contest.

 

There was something strange in his eyes now, something unreadable that Yuuri wasn’t quite sure what to make of until he spoke up once more.

 

“Then who tried to kill my brother if it wasn’t you and your people?”

 

He was trying to piece the mystery together, but he didn’t have all the pieces, and Yuuri could tell it was boiling under his skin, this need to avenge his only family that probably mattered.

 

“Why don’t you ask him yourself.”

 

And knowing now that there was no risk, he turned and called over to Phichit; instructing him to let the captain of the royal guard free and to get the pair of them a carriage bound for Sigrosk.

 

Yuuri glanced now towards Victor, his heart heavy with the weight of knowing how true some of his questions to the young prince were, and watched quietly as the battle between the two progressed.

 

Victor was skilled, his strokes graceful and elegant in a way Yuuri knew Demyan probably hated, for he was treating it as an art meant to disarm and not a battle meant to kill. Even as he sliced off coat buttons, Yuuri could see that kindness holding back his vengeance.

 

“Psyche!” he called out, trying to let him know that sometimes kindness isn’t the answer. “Strike true!”

 

Sometimes, people deserved to at least be repaid a tenth of the pain they caused you, and Yuuri wondered briefly if the fresh looking scars on the man’s face had been from Sara or Mila’s wrath at what he had done.

 

Victor must have understood, for his blade suddenly danced even swifter than before; faster, harder, and the blade lashed across his hands until his blade fell from it; the man staring Victor down as if daring him to try and kill him even now. A flash of anger, so much like his brother’s, made the blue of his eyes blaze as he kicked the man down to the ground, his blade pricking ever so slightly into his neck.

 

And Yuuri was just close enough to hear Victor’s voice, clear and firm and _royal_ as he spoke.

 

“Unlike you, I do not intend to kill an unarmed man,” he murmured, voice as cold as ice. “But I refuse to let you live capable of bringing harm to another innocent.”

 

Victor turned his blade at that, directing it down and straight through the man’s right hand.

 

“If you’re lucky, you’ll have friends like I did who will make sure you don’t bleed to death and die,” Victor continued, drawing his blade back out. “But as to your fate, I leave that between you and your God. He knows your sins and shall judge you accordingly.”

 

He gave a slight nod, and Guang Hong and Leo were there in a moment with ropes to bind his limbs so they could securely get him into the prison; and Victor finally turned, his eyes shifting immediately when they fell on Yuuri.

 

“You won?”

 

“Did you doubt me?”

 

Victor was quick, easily closing the space between them before pulling Yuuri into his arms; his sword clattering to the ground beside them.

 

“ _Thank you_ ,” he whispered, and for a moment, Yuuri was not sure what for. Then he continued. “I heard you what you said to him. I… It is a matter he and his brother should address, you’re right.”

 

“Psyche…”

 

Yuuri pulled back at that, searching those blue eyes that seemed softer now suddenly; his ridiculous hat somewhere on the ground, long forgotten during his fight. Victor shamelessly pressed a kiss to Yuuri’s cheek.

 

“It’s a family matter,” he murmured, his eyes piercing as if trying to reach Yuuri’s soul. “And you knew that it was important, for them as brothers, to mend that trust between them with the truth.”

 

Somehow, Victor had understood. Yuuri hadn’t felt it was his place to tell him it aloud, but somehow his actions said it for him.

 

 _He’s all you have left, Victor._ Yuuri wanted to say, but somehow, once more, Victor could see it in his eyes and melted into his arms; his voice so soft, so quiet, that Yuuri almost couldn’t hear it over their racing hearts.

 

“No, I’m all _he_ has left. I have _you_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't already, do check out the little extra 14.5 chapter [Chapter 14.5 Eros and Psyche, Reunited (M-Rated, Victuuri scene](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16669357) here!
> 
> An [antimonial cup](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antimonial_cup) was a small half-pint mug or cup cast in antimony popular in Europe during the 17th and 18th centuries. They were also known under the names "pocula emetica," "calices vomitorii," or "emetic cups", as wine that was kept in one for a certain period gained an emetic or laxative quality. The tartaric acid in the wine acted upon the metal cup and formed tartarised antimony.


	15. The Man in the Mask

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but we're back on schedule. Buckle up, emotional roller coaster time as we head towards the big finale!

The reflection of the sunset across the ocean onto the castle painted everything around in it reds and oranges and yellows, dancing across the courtyard and casting shadows down from the towers; and Sara, in that coat of coral red, almost appeared one with the sky, another part of the painting that had stepped out of its confines and into reality.

  
  
Mila knew it had pained her to leave the common people at the castle gates, the large gathering there chanting and demanding the appearance of the Velian commander meant as a distraction from their true mission. Not only was said commander currently in Tarraco’s prison with a good portion of the Velian regiment, but their true intent laid within in the walls of the castle, and this was merely a ruse to draw as much of the guard out as possible.

  
  
Lady Okukawa, who Mila had met during her years in Yamato, was a sharp and wise woman, and she knew that the best route to success laid in securing the safety of the royal prisoners first. It had already shaken them to discover that upon word from Tarraco, a carriage had set out holding the young princess of Apulia. Now they knew they must free her family quickly before riding after it in hopes they might overtake it.

  
  
So they’d shouldered that weight upon themselves, three women against the world, making their way into the castle from its walls facing the ocean and into the courtyards once full of beautiful gardens and joyous laughter; but for seven years now this castle had no longer flown the Apulian flag from its tallest tower, and until that time again there would be no beauty here.

  
  
Even the frescoes and architectural wonders of the building appeared muted, shrouded by the hatred and cruelty of the soldiers who now used the royal lodgings as their barracks; and there was an ache in Mila’s chest at seeing the damage they’d done to a castle that had stood proud since the 13th century.

  
  
“It should be this wing,” Sara’s soft voice came from up ahead, and the three of them came to a pause, gathering breath and nerve.

  
  
Thankfully, they’d only encountered two stray guards so far, and Minako had made quick work of them both; her blade fast and shining in the sunset, doing as Sara had requested and injuring but not killing any soldier that opposed them.

  
  
Mila reached out and took Sara’s hand, seeing the slight tremble in it and wishing with all her heart to quell those fears; she knew good Sara wasn’t even worried for her own skin, but for _theirs_. The good people they’d brought with them, the king and queen and young prince still held within these walls, perhaps even Mila and Minako’s safety but not her own.

  
  
No, that was the sort of woman Mila loved; one who when faced with such an impossible task merely looked to the heavens and asked God to spare those who helped her but never herself.

  
  
The touch of Mila’s hand sparked something, violet eyes flashing out from behind the mask, as if surprised her momentary sign of weakness had been noticed; but at the sight of Mila’s eyes peering back through her own mask, the tension in her shoulders eased, just a little.

  
  
_If it’s you, it’s okay_ , that look said, and _oh_ how Mila understood!

  
  
How hard it might be for either of them to let their armor down for even a moment, but if someone was to see through it, see behind that mask of strength that they wore like a shield, then the only one allowed to do so was the one clutching their hand tight this very second.

  
  
Mila gave her hand a squeeze and a gentle smile. “Lead on, Bella.”

  
  
Even with the mask hiding her face, Mila could see the shine that reflected across violet at that nickname, the glint of it now polished into steel; that bravery flaring to life in an instant.

  
  
She led on now with a blaze in her eyes, Mila’s hand still clutched tight as they rushed down corridors and down stairways; it was only when they paused at the sound of footsteps not their own that Mila had to try and catch her breath.

  
  
“Intruders in the east wing!” a voice called from the stairs above them, and Sara tugged Mila closer.

  
  
Then beside them, there was a glint of a real blade, Minako having drawn it silently; even the swish of her elegant Yamato clothing seemed silenced by her steely gaze.

  
  
“I’ll hold them here. Go! Now!”

  
  
Mila pulled Sara along with her, both of them only a few steps ahead before they heard the clash of swords and the sound of a gunshot hitting steel; Minako now a one-woman army to keep any soldiers from making it down the spiraling staircase to the prison.

  
  
Gunshots. Steel. Blades clashing. It echoed down the stairwell behind them, and it was only Mila’s faith in Minako’s ability that kept her from turning back to give her assistance. They were so close now and surely only a handful of guards would be waiting for them at the bottom.

  
  
Sure enough, as the torches by the doorframe came into sight, so did two guards already fumbling with their rifles to aim; Mila let Sara’s hand go, both hands now able to take hold of the axe slung across her back and yank it forward in defense.

  
  
The movement was just fast enough to knock one rifle from a soldier’s hands.

  
  
“Don’t shoot!” Sara’s voice was loud in the small space, and for a moment it was all that Mila could register.

  
  
Then that blur of sunset red-orange was before her eyes, Sara shielding Mila’s body with her own.

  
  
The world slowed at that instant, Mila’s heart suddenly in her throat as the realization of Sara’s movement fully settled into her mind. She knew that Sara would die for her cause, but she had never realized that she would do the same for her.

  
  
A gunshot rang out, the sound echoing like canonfire in the small alcove, and Mila felt as if she was drowning, the axe dropping from her hands as she reached out helplessly towards the woman who stood strong and brave without the slightest hesitation in the face of death itself.

  
  
Something in Sara’s eyes, for she held no weapon but her piercing eyes, must have startled the man enough that his shot jerked up at the last moment; the bullet slicing the surface of Sara’s cheek and just narrowly missing her ear before it lodged itself in the wall behind them.

  
  
She didn’t waver, even as the blood started to run down her cheek, and held her hand forward calmly and quietly.

  
  
“If you’re quite finished, we will be needing the keys inside.”

  
  
Mila understood suddenly. Sara was not unarmed; no not at all! All Sara ever needed as a weapon was her voice, the cadence and authority with which she spoke enough that even a soldier found himself unknowingly trying to heed it by pulling back his shot at the last second.

  
  
Sara had never needed to lift a sword or axe or anything else, for she had such a powerful voice that people were compelled to listen to its orders; and even now the man dumbly reached down to his waist and unclasped the ring of keys before holding it out to her with shaking hands.

  
  
She gave him a smile. “Thank you. If you leave your weapons and surrender to the samurai on the stairs, she won’t harm you. Is that understood?”

  
  
The two soldiers nodded, then as if she was their commander, they heeded her words immediately.

  
  
Once their footsteps died away, Mila finally found her words and stepped forward.

  
  
“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” she murmured, settling her hands onto her shoulders firmly. “You could have died.”

  
  
Sara gave a smile, but there was something wistful in it.

  
  
“I’ve been terribly lucky,” she said softly, reaching out and caressing the cheek beneath Mila’s mask. “And I’d much rather test my luck than risk yours. You’re too precious for me to ever risk that.”

  
  
Mila leaned into her touch, the gentleness of her fingers against her skin already working wonders on her racing heart. Finally, she reached up as well, using her thumb to brush the blood away as best as she could, and her heart eased even more at that on realizing how shallow a cut it had left behind.

  
  
“And you are precious to me too,” she said, meeting those eyes that had gone wide with surprise. “I don’t think I could handle being alone again, after you. It would never be possible to fill the space in my heart that you’ve taken up with anything else.”

  
  
Sara’s hands dropped at that, looping around Mila’s neck and tugging her close; their words but whispers shared in the same breath.

  
  
“I… had no idea.”

  
  
“I know, I’m not usually the type to want to settle down with someone or have need of company… but you changed that. Now I couldn’t imagine a day without you beside me, and I never want to endure it either.”

  
  
Something warm and rich like dark porter drink swirled into violet eyes at that, just as intoxicating and capable of making Mila lightheaded as the strongest drink might.

  
  
“So you aren’t just humoring my idea of building a bakery beside your home?”

  
  
Mila shook her head. “ _Our_ home now. And it will be _our_ bakery.”

  
  
Sara’s hands tangled into her slicked red hair, her lips soft yet firm as she pulled Mila into a heated kiss; the mixture brewing between them now into something sweet yet rich and deep, the type of taste that lingered like _forever._

  
  
Distantly, Mila could hear the sounds of fighting in the stairwell growing quieter, and as they finally parted breathless and giggling to themselves with happiness, even their masks couldn’t hide the radiant warmth that had settled into their eyes.

  
  
They jammed the keys one after another into the door’s lock until one finally allowed them in; the row of small cells occupied by only three people, stripped of their rich attire and crowns, but who looked royal now by their poise and dignity alone.

  
  
Even in the simple attire of the lowest peasant, the king and queen and prince of Apulia managed to make it look regal.

  
  
Once more they tried the keys one at a time until the cell door opened. Sara stepped forward and offered a simple bow before extending a hand towards the family.

  
  
“Your highnesses, I’m sorry it has taken so long.”

  
  
The king rose first, his large hand quickly enveloping Sara’s in his own, and he smiled down at her.

  
  
“What matters is that you came. Thank you, my brave gentlemen, for your loyalty.”

  
  
Sara drew back her hand at that and shot Mila a look before reaching up to undo the ribbon securing her mask to her face; and Mila followed suit, tugging off her own.

  
  
“No gentlemen, Sire. Just two daughters here in their father’s place.”

  
  
The understanding seemed to dawn on him, the man looking to his wife and son before he let out a jovial laugh.

  
  
“I always knew it would be a Crispino who would find a way to save us. With a Babicheva at their side even.”

  
  
And at this, he now bowed forward towards them.

  
  
“Thank you, my brave daughters of Apulia. I will not let your courage and strength go forgotten.”

 

The queen stood at that, reaching out and taking Mila and Sara’s hands in her own.

 

“I thank you both for everything you’ve done to reach us. My only fear now is that my daughter has been taken from here but earlier today. Do you know what happened to her? Is she safe?”

 

The two exchanged a look at that before smiling back at the queen.

 

“Once we have you safely out of here, we will be riding off to find her. You have our word that we’ll bring her back to you safe and sound.”

 

“Then we’re coming with you,” the king stated. “Even if we must follow in a carriage, I refuse to sit idle while my people stand and fight. Will you permit that, good ladies?”

 

Mila let out a soft laugh. “Your highness, you do not need to ask us for permission to do anything.”

 

He turned to Sara then, something fatherly and wise in his eyes.

 

“I follow the same leader all of Apulia is right now, and that man is not me, nor is it even a man. It was Miss Crispino here that has brought you this far, and I place my trust in her to bring us victory in the end.”

 

Sara shyly darted her eyes to Mila at that, clearly a bit overwhelmed by the sudden praise; but she gathered her wits about her quickly and answered with poise and confidence.

 

“Then let us not wait and let victory slip through our fingers. Let us ride home again with a story to tell, a story of how we marched on Sigrosk and took back Apulia for ourselves.”

 

“Lead on, Miss Crispino,” the king said.

 

She held her head high as she led them out through the cells and up the stairs, her coat like a beacon now lit as if in warning to everything and everyone that stood in her way; and the few remaining men that had not met with Minako’s skillful blade parted and allowed her to pass unhindered.

 

She had dove straight into the fire and come out ready to fight for all that she loved with nothing but her courage and words to shield her.

 

And Mila knew, had seen it for herself, what the power of Sara’s love could do.

 

It could change everything.

 

* * *

 

The sun had already begun to set by the time Victor made it back to Sigrosk.

 

He’d hoped he’d have an hour or two before the ball started to talk with his brother, the matter still weighing on him ever since he overheard Yuuri’s feelings on it during their duel; but since Victor was still in no state to ride alone, he was relegated to a carriage and they could only trundle northward so quickly without displacing a wheel or tipping over. Why the only reason Victor hadn’t spent the entire ride worrying about the plans for the night ahead was that Yuuri was there, gallant and dashing in his red velvet, and he was so certain in his plans that even Victor’s worries were finally put to rest.

 

Yuuri knew Victor’s father well enough to know that he’d not dare kill such a notorious criminal in private; those extra hours before he could be brought out in the courtyard before the public eye for execution crucial in order to secure safety for everyone involved. By the time they made it to Yuuri’s small shop in Sigrosk, Victor’s only remaining worry was that he would truly have to restrain himself from making any contact with Yuuri once he was arrested.

 

But he could do it if it meant that they’d have a future together free of all the miseries that Victor had endured since his mother’s passing.

 

Christophe had been cleared by a doctor and his brother to at least be up and about again, even if Victor was refraining from having him do any more than he must; but the comfort of a friend was valuable at a time like this, and his words as they changed Victor from common attire into that of a prince were a welcome calm upon his soul.

 

“So, are you planning on dancing with anyone special tonight?”

 

He’d told Christophe what little he dared to within the walls of the castle, and his attendant was definitely aware at least that Yuuri would be attending as the Vermilion Rose, by manner of speaking. Why even he had been sharp enough to see Demyan’s ploy for what it was!

 

“Do you think I should?”

 

Christophe smoothed his fingers across the shoulders and stepped back to let Victor inspect his reflection in the mirror; his suit in a rich blue cut and voided silk velvet, the appearance that of a night strewn with stars, and of course elegant embroidered flowers that Yuuri’s had stitched so beautifully and skillfully decorated its edges.

 

Victor ran a finger over the stitches appreciatively and Christophe chuckled.

 

“Well, we wouldn’t want your father to think you were hesitant about investigating the man, considering he’s basically requested you do so; I’d think it the opportune moment to go and flirt with him under the guise of espionage.”

 

Even Victor couldn’t help the amused curl of his lips at that thought. It was true, his father had requested they do _anything_ to discover the man’s identity; as it was, flirting was definitely within reasonable attempts to do such.

 

“And just because your brother doesn’t want to murder him anymore doesn’t mean he’ll sit this out either, Sire. If anything, spare your beloved _his_ company for the night.”

 

A laugh slipped free at that and Victor turned back to Christophe, nodding that he was ready for the mask to be added to his ensemble. Without having the chance to talk to his brother, it really would be best if he tried his best to secure Yuuri’s attentions; for it would keep his brother and any other potential unmaskers lured in by his father’s reward from getting too close to the truth.

 

“Well, we wouldn’t want him to suffer that.”

 

As Christophe finished tying the mask off, the black lace design entirely beaded in greens and blues and purples and adorned with the feathers of a peacock, Victor caught his eye in the mirror.

 

“Still worried, Sire?”

 

His tepid smile faltered at that, wavering.

 

“I just… don’t want to endanger him, Chris.”

 

“Your father will have most of the dances be group dances, you know that much, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

 

“I know.”

 

Christophe settled a hand on his shoulder. “Then why so worried?”

 

Victor reached up and took it, smiling sadly over his shoulder at his attendant- nay, _friend_.

 

“Because my father always finds a way to hurt or kill what I love. Even you weren’t safe, Chris. And you know how scared I am for Makkachin. If my father’s wrath has to fall upon anyone, I don’t want it to be on someone I care for.”

 

His friend let out a heavy sigh. “No, you’d much rather take that burden on yourself.”

 

There was a definite flicker of shock on his face at that, quashed quickly but probably not quick enough; but _of course_ Christophe knew how Victor felt. He’d been there seven years ago, had been the only reason Victor received help in time.

 

He turned now to him with a somber expression, but one he thought might be something a little like his mother’s in its poise.

 

“It is my duty, Chris. If I cannot protect my people, then what kind of ruler am I?”

 

Christophe darted his eyes away and the answer went unspoken between them.

 

 _Your father_.

 

He bravely put on a smile and looked back to Victor, finally reaching down to pull out one last little touch.

 

Yuuri’s pin, its little red gemstone sparkling like a beacon; its warmth a call to safety, harbor, _home_.

 

“I thought you might want this, tonight.”

 

And so touched by the man’s care, even after all he’d suffered for Victor’s sake, he found himself unable to refrain from throwing decorum and rank out the window and doing that which he knew most royalty would never dare; pulling Christophe to him in a hug that he hoped might impart even a fraction of all his gratitude for his friendship and kindness.

 

Christophe was even kind enough not to remark upon the sudden affection, though the surprise lingered in his eyebrows as he leaned back and said with a laugh in his voice, “Okay, guess I was right.”

 

Victor was smiling, without a hint of worry or sadness, immediately.

 

“You know me well, Chris. Thank you.”

 

So although there was not a hint of red elsewhere on his whole outfit, Victor allowed the small little pin to be affixed to his cravat; feeling the warmth of its shine around him like a shield as he finally made his way down to the grand hall where his father surely awaited him.

 

 _One night_ , he thought again and again, _one more night and then it will all be over._

 

The hall was adorned in the royal colors, rich oranges and deep greens hung from every available surface in tapestry or adornment of some kind; his father in the same colors, orange and green brocade with gold detail work in stitches nowhere as elegant as Yuuri’s.

 

But all Victor could see was the orange dyed fabric, knowing after reading over countless books of his brother’s that it was made from a substance referred to as ruby of arsenic; and the dark green dye made from a substance Yuuri had called “toxic and not worth the risk for anything more than thread.” Even the colors he’d chosen for his house were made of poison and people were just too blind to see how it had tainted everything he’d ever touched.

 

He was so focused on his father he didn’t realize he’d been approached until he felt the hesitant touch of his brother’s hand on his arm.

 

“Victor?”

 

Victor turned sharply, a bit surprised to see his brother coming into the hall after him. They’d left in their carriage not long after they sent off the captain with his brother, but Yuuri’s insistence must have gotten them back sooner than Yuri.

 

“Oh, hello. Where have you been?”

 

Yuri darted his eyes away. “We can talk about it later. I got word from Otabek that you wanted to talk, but I didn’t have time because of this stupid ball.”

 

Victor forced a smile. “That’s all right. It should be over by about ten or so. We can talk then. Is everything okay?”

 

For a moment his brother studied him, as if he might pierce through all the layers of masks Victor had put on for the night, but clearly he couldn’t find the answer he sought for he huffed and crossed his arms.

 

“Yeah. God I hate balls.”

 

“I know. But I’m sure you know why father’s called this one.”

 

Even behind the black mask, Victor could see the piercing dagger of a look that his brother shot towards their father where he stood laughing with his entourage of advisors; clearly, the boy had done some thinking on that long ride home from Tarraco.

 

“Doesn’t make it suck any less,” he muttered. Then, to Victor’s surprise, he added. “We should probably play nice with the emperor and his guest for appearances at least.”

 

 _For appearances_ … Victor could hardly keep back the look of shock, thankful for the physical mask on his face for its assistance in hiding what was surely written across his face for a matter of seconds.

 

Tentatively, he made a suggestion. “Shall you take to the emperor and I to his guest then? At least our heights should be less troublesome for some of the dances that way.”

 

Yuri shot him a smirk at that, then almost playfully, he shoved Victor in the arm. “Just don’t let anyone else stab you, idiot.”

 

For one strange and odd moment, it felt like they really were brothers; worry having made its journey now to this, the boy now teasing lightly about something he’d been so incensed about.

 

“I don’t plan on getting stabbed by anyone else, I promise. Unlike father I would like this to be the first and last stabbing of my life.”

 

His brother snorted out a laugh at that. “Good.”

 

The hall was opened and throngs of Larussian citizens of wealth filed into it. The suddenness of the ball did not seem to remotely damper or subdue the extravagance and ornate dresses and masks that they came in; and Victor put on a polite smile and greeted them all as was expected of his position, his mood kept buoyant by the familiar appearance of some fabrics and embroidery that he knew had been Yuuri’s handiwork.

 

Fashionably late, and with the emperor in a Sindhu garment of red and gold that Victor was certain his father actually _winced_ at upon sight; the elegant Eros came in as bold and confident as was expected of the elusive man, turning heads the moment he appeared as everyone began to whisper behind their fans to one another about the identity of the man with the young emperor.

 

But who could have blamed them for being instantly intrigued by such a man?

 

For Yuuri had definitely done everything imaginable to look the part expected of him, dashing in red and gold brocade adorned with even more excessive gold embroidery worked around the edges, the fabric with a pattern of flowers that were distinctly _roses_ ; why even his mask was an ornate gold with a trim of red lace, a red gemstone shining in the center, little sprigs of berries by his ears and above his right ear- a daring vermilion red rose.

 

Victor had to fight back a smile too fond, turning instead to gauge his brother’s reaction to the appearance of the man he’d crossed swords with only hours before.

 

Yuri was calculating, but not in the way his father might be, no scheming or terrible machinations behind it but instead a curiosity and intrigue much like the other guests there. Why, of all of them, it was perhaps Yuri who would be most likely to know for _certain_ that the guest was indeed who he appeared to be given how often their paths had strayed into each other’s.

 

He turned to Victor with a question in his eyes, as if confused that the man took the bait his father had so obviously placed before him. It seemed, whatever his brother’s feelings were about Eros now, he had enough respect for the man to think him above such a simple trick.

 

“Presenting his majesty, Kenjirou Minami, Emperor of Yamato and his distinguished guest, Mr. Takeshi Nishigori, ambassador of foreign affairs.”

 

Victor caught Yuuri’s eyes through the mask at that, both of them twinkling in silent laughter at the position they’d given their mystery man; for it was true, in a way, that Eros was dealing heavily in foreign affairs as of late.

 

The usual formalities of bows and handshakes between royalty were exchanged, and to Victor’s relief his brother had already made the first move necessary for their plans to continue as they wanted.

 

“Your majesty, if it would be acceptable, myself and my brother would like to offer our company for the evening to assist you with any unfamiliar dances and ensure you have a most enjoyable evening.”

 

There was a hint of surprise on both Emperor Minami and Eros’s faces at that, and Victor caught Yuuri’s eye long enough to know what it appeared; clearly he thought that Yuri and Victor had talked already, given that it seemed the boy was helping them.

 

Victor extended a hand towards Yuuri, offering a handshake that had only been exchanged so far amongst the four members of royalty present.

 

“I promise, we don’t bite.”

 

He could see the curl of Yuuri’s lips at that, that twinkle sparkling once more in his brown eyes and it was as if Victor could hear what he had to be thinking as he bowed and took the hand and turned it; giving it a chaste kiss while he flickered his eyes up to Victor.

 

_Oh Victor, we both know I have a mark underneath this cravat that proves otherwise, love._

 

“It would be my honor, your highness.”

 

And so the game began.

 

His father had, of course, replaced the handkerchiefs of the polonaise with single roses of varying colors; the pinks and yellows and whites and, as Yuuri selected, red. And Victor spent the dance, its intricate processional march far far too chaste for his liking all of the sudden, cherishing each time Yuuri was coupled with him and watching as surreptitiously as he could when he passed from one dancer to the next before making his way around the ballroom and back to Victor.

 

Why, there were even women who, upon realizing that this handsome stranger had chosen to dance the second part, boldly switched position with their male companions so they might have that ever brief moment of dancing with the elusive man; and those that managed to secure a slightly longer section of the dance with him spent it lavishing in his company and cherishing each touch of his hand with their own.

 

Victor had a feeling he wasn’t the only dancer there that night that was finding the gloves an unnecessary barrier between themselves and the touch of one man’s fingertips.

 

The music seemed to end all too soon, despite Victor usually finding the dance an overly long and tedious affair, and he reluctantly stood beside Yuuri and the emperor as the next group of dancers took the floor. It could be another half hour or more before they finished just this one dance with everyone in attendance, and Victor took a breath and tried to find topics that seemed fitting for him to speak of with someone he wasn’t supposed to know so incredibly well.

 

“So, Mr. Nishigori, was it?” he asked as they settled at a small table with his brother and the emperor.

 

Yuuri’s sly smile was dangerous, and Victor should have known better than to press on.

 

“That’s correct.”

 

The name definitely sounded familiar to Victor and after a moment, that little smirk made all the more sense; why he’d met the Nishigori family when he was in Yamato! The wife, Yuuko, had been the wigmaker assisting the group and had helped them make Psyche a new one; the family compromising of her, her husband, and three little girls.

 

Victor almost teased him about being a rather flirtatious married man, but Yuuri must have sensed it for he had snuck his foot around Victor’s ankle and had moved it tauntingly up his stocking.

 

He had to feint a cough in order to hide the blush he knew had burned scarlet against his cheeks, and as he recovered he could see that little twinkle behind the gold mask, eyes laughing at him.

 

Well, if Yuuri was going to play the game like that, then Victor would just have to match it.

 

The emperor had been drawn into the subject of the recent affairs involving the vigilante from his country by his brother, and Victor could tell the young emperor was trying his hardest not to act _too_ proud of the man. Yuuri had entered the conversation as best as he could to try and damper the enthusiasm, but his additions were wildly inaccurate and more the stuff of rumor than fact.

 

“Yes, they say he’s got seven whips,” Yuuri murmured sagely.

 

“Seven… whips?” Victor muttered.

 

Yuuri nodded. “That’s the story at least.”

 

“He’s a nuisance, that’s what,” Yuri had countered.

 

Victor could see the look in the emperor’s eyes at the slight, and before he could put his foot in his mouth on the matter, he cut in.

 

“You know, I’d meant to ask when I visited last time, but Emperor you always seem to have some new and exciting fashion. Why, your current attire is nothing like anything I’ve ever seen before, but I love it.”

 

It had been the right choice, for Minami was quick to talk at length about silks and embroidery and Sindhu, and before they knew it, they’d finally reached the next dance.

 

“What’s up next?” the emperor had asked as they got to their feet and made for the dance floor.

 

“A waltz,” Yuri muttered, clearly not excited.

 

But Victor, well… he suddenly found himself with a hand pressed flush to his hip and the other one pulling his hand up into position.

 

“Is this correct?” Yuuri teased.

 

Victor swallowed and managed a nod.

 

And God how radiant Yuuri was at the moment, lit by the largest chandelier, the refraction of the candles off the glass making him look stunning, and with a fond smile that Victor knew was all for him.

 

“I just love a good waltz, don’t you?”

 

Had he not been already supported by Yuuri, he would have stumbled at the words; the very same he’d spoken at the last ball, coming back like this now. And he hoped that his smile in return didn’t give away how utterly _touched_ he was that Yuuri remembered it.

 

“Yes,” he said softly, leaning in far closer than was necessary as the music began. “With the right partner, it’s like floating on air.”

 

Those rich brown eyes twinkled, all fondness and affection, as he expertly led Victor around the ballroom; both of them sharing thousands of words unspoken in the slightest curl of their lips and the warm shine of their eyes. It was indeed like floating, all Victor’s worries and problems feeling worlds away as he just let himself fall, knowing Yuuri would keep him afloat with those beautiful eyes alone.

 

That warm feeling settled in Victor’s stomach like a good drink, loosening his tense muscles and just letting himself enjoy dancing for this one brief moment in time. When it ended, it was far too soon; but Yuuri politely turned down every other person who asked for a waltz with him, stating he needed to take a break.

 

Victor knew better. Could see it in his eyes every time he declined an offer. Could hear those words echoing in his chest like a heartbeat.

 

_I’ll save all my waltzes for you._

 

Even here, even on a night like this, Yuuri had kept his promise.

 

They danced a cracovienne, and a pas-de-gras, at some point finding their little quartet joined by an oddly familiar trio of women; and it was during the pas-de-gras that Victor finally realized that the three “Countesses from Hispana” were in fact none other than Leo, Guang Hong and Phichit all in elaborate ball gowns, makeup, and wigs that made their identity almost imperceivable.  

 

Guang Hong’s was, fittingly perhaps, adorned in hundreds of little silk rosettes; even his mask covered in varying shades of pink roses. Leo too was in pink, with enough ruffles on his sleeves for a dress of their own and a silver butterfly nestled on his mask that also had pink roses that matched Guang Hong’s. As for Phichit, even Victor had to use his moments of dancing with him to comment on the utter extravagance of it all; dress in creams and golds that flowed in elegant cascades of layers and with a mask with thousands of little white gemstones twinkling in the air around it like stars, large dangling adornments falling from each ear.

 

It made Victor feel even better about the night, knowing that they’d found a way to get them all in without notice; and the three did their best to play their parts of overly friendly and curious countesses who were just _dying_ to talk about the Vermilion Rose with the emperor and his guest.

 

If Yuuri’s appearance wasn’t enough to sell that he was the real deal to Victor’s father, their loud questions and tittering laughter when Yuuri answered in vague but clearly not discouraging statements would surely convince him.

 

For the last dance of the night, it was always a marzuka.

 

Normally Victor dreaded it, for it was perhaps the only thing outside of a waltz where you could spend a lot of time flirting and cozying up with someone you were interested in; a position Victor had reluctantly found himself in with partners he did not choose.

 

But with Yuuri, and the emperor, and the group of three silly countesses who had roped poor JJ into dancing with Phichit; it looked to be perhaps the highlight of the ball.

 

As Victor spun with his arms linked behind his back with Yuuri, he could see Phichit’s overly flirtatious act with the captain and he about started laughing right there. Really, the poor man in his dress uniform was only here out of requirement and definitely did not anticipate being dragged out by a rather friendly countess.

 

Yet as they changed position once more, he caught the gentle smile on Yuuri’s face and found himself answering in kind; the upbeat steps with their arms twined together making the dance more lively and lovelier than Victor thought it had ever been before.

 

When he dropped to one knee, allowing Yuuri to promenade around him, something new sparked in Yuuri’s eyes; something Victor heavily suspected might be in his own, and it was as if they shared one unified thought for that moment in time.

 

_It’s almost like a marriage proposal._

 

As Victor stood and took Yuuri in his arms, once more spinning them around in step with the melody, something had shifted between them; something strange and wonderful and beautiful had changed.

 

Because along with that thought, there had also been an unspoken answer.

 

_Yes._

 

Victor’s chest was suddenly too full to hold all the emotions that he had, his eyes prickling as if tears were trying to make themselves known out of the pure and unadulterated joy he felt. How had he been so lucky? How had the hands of fate been so kind as to bring him this beautiful man right when he needed him most?

 

And all they had to do was endure this one last night before forever spread out before them like a dream.

 

The music finally drew to a close and Victor stood, holding Yuuri’s hand, and he thought to himself, _This is it. Now I have to let my father arrest him and put my trust in him that he’ll be safe._

 

But to his surprise, the king made no such move to arrest anyone; all the guests biding one another farewell until practically the last ones there, the emperor and Yuuri made their departure.

 

Victor had, under the guise of hospitality, offered to escort them to their carriage.

 

He held out a hand and helped them each into it before leaning into its confines and taking the emperor’s hand.

 

“Thank you, your majesty, for your company this evening. Are you heading back to Yamato tonight?”

 

The boy shook his head, a silent understanding passing between them. “No, I get sick if the ship is in motion while I sleep. We’ll be departing in the morning if the weather holds.”

 

“Might I offer a place at our table for breakfast?”

 

He was giving them another chance at their plan. For while Yuuri had mentioned that they suspected it would happen at the ball, he also said they were prepared to have the soldiers come to the ship at the docks as well.

 

It wasn’t much, but it at least might spare Yuuri the indignity of having to be dragged from docks back to castle as a prisoner.

 

“That would be wonderful, don’t you think?”

 

He’d turned to Yuuri and now Victor did too; his eyes in the dark of the carriage still shimmering like diamonds in the night.

 

Yuuri’s smile was soft and fond, as if he’d realized the gesture for what it was; and he reached out to take Victor’s hand in the shadows where only the emperor could see.

 

“That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

 

Victor glanced back, and to his relief, he saw only the captain standing watch.

 

His fingers tangled into familiar black hair, dancing across the slick curls and settling at the base of Yuuri’s neck; the air between them thick with all the emotions that still lingered between them, eyes searching yet still not satisfied.

 

He looked once more, certain that no soul save one was near enough to discern anything happening within the carriage, before he moved. The two of them drifted together as if unable to hold back even one moment more, their restraint exhausted and beyond gone; the kiss overflowing with every single emotion they’d held at bay the whole evening, flooding Victor’s heart with a sensation and warmth unlike anything else.

 

They parted wanting for breath, both of them just looking and drinking their fill before what was soon to come; allowing themselves this one brief pause of the universe to cloak themselves in love before they ventured forth into the final battle.

 

“Good night, sweet prince.”

 

Victor’s heart was singing in response and he breathed out the reply like a prayer.

 

“Stay safe, darling.”

 

* * *

 

It was the request he’d been dreading all evening.

 

Ever since, right before the ball, Victor had pulled him aside and told him, “Whatever my father asks you to do tonight, do it.”

 

He had seemed deadly serious at the time and after seeing the emperor’s guest, it suddenly made perfect sense; clearly they’d planned something and he was using himself as bait.

 

But it still didn’t make JJ feel any better about it.

 

While it was true the Vermilion Rose and his cohorts had pulled off a great many tricks, something about this one made JJ nervous; something he couldn’t quite put his finger on until he was standing before the king himself and the man issued his request.

 

“Captain, I’d like you to clear up a little matter about this evening for me.”

 

The panic had settled in his gut, and all he could do was worry that somehow the trap had backfired and now Isabella would be in danger. He steadied his voice and held himself tall.

 

“Yes Sire?”

 

“I’m sure you’re aware of the identity of one of our guests this evening. A certain gentleman from Yamato?”

 

JJ felt Victor’s words, remembered his insistence that he never risk himself or Isabella if his father pressed for answers.

 

“I believe I am familiar with who you’re talking about.”

 

Demyan’s expression became sharp and calculating, as if he was trying to read JJ’s mind and bleed out all the secrets he’d held inside it. Instead, he sat back and idly gestured towards the door, and a man dressed much like a sailor came inside.

 

“You see, I thought we might have the pleasure of his attendance and, not wishing to upset my guests, I had his carriage driver switched without his or the emperor’s knowledge.”

 

A cold, colder than any Kebec winter he’d ever felt, settled deep into his bones; his body reacting as if already aware of the course fate had chosen for them all.

 

“And he happened to relate to me some rather… interesting things about the departure. Namely about my son.”

 

JJ swallowed. Hard.

 

“When asked if anyone else might confirm what he saw or heard, I was provided with your name, Captain. I’m assured that you perhaps saw even better what occurred than my loyal guard who’d played the role of driver did.”

 

He felt sick. He’d never, in all his days, wanted to be forced to be the one that brought harm to anyone. And now he was being expected to endanger potentially two lives with a word.

 

“And…” and God even his voice sounded wrong, “what is it that I was supposed to have seen, Sire?”

 

“Mind you, I already have pretty good reason to believe this man. He’s one of my most trusted guards and has served me well for years. It would be in your best interest if you didn’t withhold any information out of loyalty to someone else. Say perhaps, my son.”

 

JJ closed his eyes and tried to breathe. He didn’t want to be the one to do this!

 

“If it would help, Captain, I could have that Adelasian girl of yours brought here under guard. I know you’re a loyal man, but I’m afraid your loyalty might be misplaced and I’ve heard that the presence of loved ones sometimes helps people understand what the right thing to do is.”

 

_Captain, I want you to promise me that if my father at any time threatens to endanger you or anyone you care about for withholding something- betray me._

 

Damn it all! Even now, JJ knew he had to be loyal to the right man. And that man had, in his kindness and nobility, told him that if it came to it- JJ was to betray him.

 

“That… won’t be necessary, Sire.”

 

“Good. If I’m pleased with your answer and your compliance with my instructions tonight, I’ll even be kind enough to overlook the fact you didn’t bring these facts to me immediately.”

 

Quietly, eyes focused on the floor in front of him, JJ gave the king the answer he wanted.

 

Yes, he had seen the prince enter the carriage. Yes, it had seemed that the prince knew the man well already. Yes, he’d seen the prince kiss him goodbye.

 

He felt hollow as the king issued his next orders.

 

“Thank you, Captain. Now, could you please escort my son down here? Don’t worry, I’ll be sending two of _my_ loyal men with you just in case you experience any change of heart.”

 

Like a puppet on a string, he followed orders; his sharp knock to the prince’s door answered by his brother instead.

 

“I’m sorry for the interruption,” he muttered, for it appeared the young prince had just arrived, “but the king has requested your immediate presence in the throne room, Prince Victor.”

 

Blue eyes of a different kind met JJ’s, and he could see Victor take a steadying breath before replying.

 

“Do you know for what reason?”

 

He had to at least somehow, some way, try and warn him; even if it was small and it was all he could do now.

 

“In regards to the carriage departure of our guests from Yamato.”

 

The blue grew sharp with understanding, Victor turning to his attendant and taking off his coat to hand over to him.

 

“Christophe, you know what to do. Thank you.”

 

To the other soldiers, JJ thought it might appear that the prince was merely telling him where to put the coat; but JJ could see something in the attendant’s eyes that made him realize that perhaps there was still hope- perhaps one of them could reach out to someone before it was too late.

 

Victor came in silence, only pausing when he reached the door frame and the two other soldiers took hold of his arms; immediately making it apparent to even his brother what was happening.

 

“Victor… what…”

 

He gave his brother a sad smile. “I’m sorry, Yuri. I wish I’d been able to tell you this myself.”

 

He allowed himself to be led, not speaking or looking anywhere but forward, and JJ had the distinct impression that now, even he too, was but a puppet in Demyan’s game.

 

They arrived in the throne room and Victor stood tall, staring down his father with blue eyes so unlike his hateful ones; the two of them sizing one another up before Demyan’s smile spread cruel and sharp across his face.

 

“Victor, I’m sure you’re aware why you are here. Honestly, if you were not my son I would not even permit you this chance to clear your name, but I suppose I’m a kind man when I want to be.”

 

Victor said nothing and only continued to stare him down.

 

“After your disgusting display this evening in front of all my guests, I can only hope that you were but acting the part of a lovestruck fool to lower his guard. If so, please tell me everything you can about your new paramour so I can let you get back to your evening.”

 

But the prince hadn’t even flinched at the words, head still held high and proud.

 

“Nothing you don’t already know, father. He stated his name and occupation upon arrival, after all. We all heard it.”

 

“Don’t play dumb with me, boy!” the man yelled, slamming his fist down on the arm of his chair. “My driver and the captain both saw your parting kiss. Now tell me his identity!”

 

Victor’s lips thinned, his eyes steeled now with something far braver.

 

“No.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“I said no. I’m not telling you anything about him.”

 

“Victor…”

 

His eyes flashed like a blade.

 

“Don’t speak to me like you care!” Victor snapped. “I said no, and I meant it. I will not betray him to you under any circumstances.”

 

Demyan turned to one of his guards. “Get his damn mutt in here. We’ll see if we can make him talk.”

 

But at those words, Victor moved; yanking himself from the tight hold of the guard and storming towards Demyan with a deadly look in his eyes.

 

“Don’t waste your time. I already got everything I care about safely away from here!”

 

The king balked at the words and Victor pressed on.

 

“Like I wouldn’t realize the first thing you’d do would be to try and harm the few things here I’ve been allowed to have. Search the whole damn castle if you want, you will not find my dog or my attendant anywhere. They are safe and they are staying that way. If you want to come after me, then do it. But I will not let harm befall them or the brave man who has been helping our people. I will not let you kill anything else I love!”

 

The guards were upon him in an instant and JJ winced his eyes closed as they roughly brought the prince back under control.

 

“Captain, you are to escort him to the dungeon and he is to stay there overnight. If he hasn’t come to his senses by the morning, then he will be executed for treason. Is that understood?”

 

JJ hesitated, but then Victor turned, his kind blue eyes asking for him to be loyal to him once more.

 

_Betray me._

 

He bowed towards the king, hoping it might hide the conflict in his expression.

 

“Yes, Sire.”

 

And as he led the prince towards the dungeons, the good captain hoped that somehow, one last time, the Vermilion Rose would find a way to save everyone

 

_If you love him the way he loves you, please, save him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since we all need a pick me up after that (yes I'm mad at myself and it's been planned since day one) check out [the EVR](http://elusive-vermilion-rose.tumblr.com) tumblr for posts about the dances and the amazing outfits for this and the previous ball that I'll be posting in the next couple of days to tide us over until the finale chapter on Friday and Epilogue on Monday.


	16. Thru the Eye of a Needle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the finale kind of ended up... way longer than expected. SO you get a double chapter here (posting one part right now and one tomorrow night) and then we'll have the Epilogue on Friday. *throws plot twists like confetti~*

It had been chaos from the moment Yuuri realized their driver was not Seung-gil. 

 

Leo had already been back at the ship, along with Phichit and Guang Hong, and they were fighting their way out of dresses far too wide to navigate through anything when Yuuri strode aboard the Daydream with a deadly fire in his eyes.

 

Even when Phichit asked after him, he merely shook his head and said he needed some time alone to think; Leo and the others figured that it was merely a matter of time before the king’s guard arrived at the docks, but Yuuri had told them quietly that they wouldn’t be coming.

 

Somehow, even before the attendant and dog arrived with word of what had happened, Yuuri knew in his heart that Victor was in trouble.

 

After about an hour, Phichit finally coaxed Yuuri to open the door to his cabin and the three of them filed in; finding him surrounded by scraps of fabric now stitched in various embroidery- bees, oak leaves, blues and golds.

 

“Hey, how are you holding up?” Phichit had asked, settling next to him on the bed.

 

Yuuri’s lips were thinned into a tight line, his eyes sharp. 

 

“I’m not heeding Victor’s letter,” he began gesturing to the parchment that sat on the nightstand. “I’m not leaving him, no matter what he asks of me. But the only solution I can come up with is…”

 

He darted his eyes up at that and Leo could see behind the brown that mixture of fear and bravery fighting; Yuuri’s anxiety now at its peak with his innate courage trying its best to hold it back.

 

“Not good?” Phichit offered.

 

Yuuri forced a smile and prodded Phichit’s cheek. “You look ridiculous with your makeup still on.”

 

Phichit gave a small smile in return. “On behalf of Madame de Tournay, I am insulted.”

 

He turned then to Leo and Guang Hong, Yuuri’s smile easing a bit; less forced now, but still a little too sad.

 

“I’ve already asked so much of you.”

 

Leo took a step forward at that, hoping his voice would hold steady. “Yuuri, we’re with you until the end. Whatever it might be.”

 

“Into darkness, into danger,” Guang Hong caught on, stepping up beside Leo and taking his hand, “we’ll follow you into the fire, Yuuri, if that’s what it takes.”

 

Yuuri took a deep breath. “If you’re sure.”

 

Phichit reached over at that and ruffled his hair. “I’ll even get back in that crazy dress if you want me to, Yuuri. If you have a way to save Victor, then we’re with you all the way.”

 

A few tears slipped free, Yuuri’s one small sign of the turmoil that was surely inside, before he wiped them away and turned to them with eyes as sharp as his blade.

 

“T-Thank you,” he murmured, softly. 

 

He picked up the scraps of fabric, rows of stitches and symbols, and laid it out before them.

 

“This,” Yuuri said, indicating the intricate pattern, “is my plan.”

 

Only Yuuri, thought Leo, would in perhaps his worst nightmare sew himself the answer; exchanging his maps for fabric and his pen for needle. For there upon the leftover pieces of dresses and coats worn at the ball mere hours ago, there was indeed an answer; bees representing Victor and those loyal to him, oak leaves representing areas of safety, various other stitches and symbols each signifying someone or something.

 

There were remnants of their previous plan, but so much of it had hinged on the prisoner being from Yamato; as there was an old agreement between Yamato and Larussia that stated if a citizen of Yamato was arrested, the Yamato government could request a trial. And the fact Christophe had already come to them actually made one part easier.

 

For Yuuri, always able to see every little thread however small, had been smart enough to ask if Phichit’s mother had remembered anything strange in the last letter she’d received from Victor’s mother, and Celestino had been quick to bring the letter from Lady Sirikit that stated something that could be a crucial part of removing Demyan from power.

 

They knew what they’d found in Detinets Castle, the original capital of Larussia in far northern Novgorod, would not be enough to convince anyone with ties to Demyan, as one document could be falsified easily and there was a good chance many of the higher ranked officials were keen to keep Demyan in power. But there had been rumor that Queen Zhenya had left some sort of will, and no amount of digging on Michele and Emil’s part had unearthed it.

 

So when Lady Sirkit noted there was a mention in the letter that Zhenya had passed along some valuables to her attendant and stated, “I know she’ll find a way to help Victor if anything happens to me,” Yuuri had a feeling right then that she’d given the will to Lady Giacometti; but since the attendant died shortly after, there was now a good chance that same item had passed to her son since her husband had been long dead.

 

“Phichit,” Yuuri had finished going over his part in this,“everyone’s safety comes down to your success. You can’t let Christophe be captured and you can’t draw too much attention until Demyan leaves the castle in the morning. It’s a very small pocket of time… but I trust you.”

 

He gave Yuuri a one-armed hug. “I won’t let you down.”

 

“Guang Hong,” he turned towards him and pointed at another cluster of stitches, “when we overtake the carriage with the Apulian princess, you will take her place. If my hunch is right, Demyan will try and intimidate her by bringing her along in the morning.”

 

“Please tell me I get to fight people,” Guang Hong teased. “I’m much better at that than looking pretty.”

 

Leo nudged him with a shoulder. “You’re good at both.”

 

It earned him a bright blush, and Leo felt his heart jump with it. 

 

“Same signal as everyone else, Guang Hong. Once that happens, you are to try and disable any guards that are still following orders from Demyan.”

 

He nodded, cheeks still a bit pink but eyes full of fire. Leo thought it might be the most beautiful he’d yet been.

 

“Leo, aside from Phichit, most of this is going to fall on you,” Yuuri said, clearly not finding his own part notable even thought it was. “You’re the only one of us that resembles any of the royal guard, so you’ll need to take that man’s place. Try and talk to the captain. Alone, if possible. Let him know we’ve got Isabella safe.”

 

“That’s what we’re asking the playwright to do, right?” Leo clarified.

 

“Yes. He was already helpful in making sure Christophe made it to us in disguise, and I’m sure he is capable of playing the part of a soldier long enough to get her out of the castle safely. Once her safety is assured, I have a feeling from what Victor’s told me that the captain will easily side with us.”

 

“That doesn’t seem that hard.”

 

But suddenly, Yuuri’s eyes narrowed, a hint of that fear he’d been fighting back finally escaping before he snuffed it out again; yet it was there and it made Leo feel better about his own fears coiling around his heart.

 

“Also, if you have the chance…” Yuuri took a deep breath, his eyes suddenly far away, “try and tamper with the rifles so they don’t shoot properly. It might…”

 

He came up short, unable to even speak aloud his greatest fear; but Leo understood, implicitly.

 

It could be the difference between whether or not he lived or died.

 

Leo took a steadying breath. He was a beekeeper and silkworm farmer, he wasn’t a fighter or an actor or anything special; but Yuuri was placing his and Victor’s life in his hands without a moment’s hesitation.

 

Guang Hong must have understood all that was spiraling through his mind, because suddenly his arms were around him and his voice muffled into the crook of his neck as he spoke.

 

“Remember. What you told me about the wolves?”

 

He felt a smile curl at his lips, knowing immediately what he meant.

 

“El que con lobos anda, a aullar se enseña,” he murmured and it made something strong resound in his heart.

 

“What’s that?” Phichit asked.

 

“An old gaucho saying. It means, he who runs with wolves will learn to howl. Perhaps, given the brave wolves I’ve been running with, I’m braver now than I used to be.”

 

“You are,” Guang Hong replied, his eyes piercing and true as he gave Leo a peck of a kiss. “You put up with me, after all.”

 

And suddenly, the fact they were about to risk everything one last time seemed like child’s play; the intricate plans Yuuri had made sounding like a path to victory instead of a desperate attempt. 

 

All the courage that surrounded him was now within him as well.

 

He wrapped his arms around Guang Hong and lifted him up into a hug, before settling him back down looped still in his arms; giving him a warm smile before turning back to Yuuri with confidence blazing in his eyes.

 

“I’ll do everything in my power to help, Yuuri. Just lead the way.”

 

* * *

 

There was a lot to think about when you knew you were going to die.

 

If Christophe followed instruction, which Victor knew he would, then he and Makkachin were safely aboard the Daydream and the ship was headed towards Yamato without delay; he knew Yuuri would find some way to warn Sara, but hoped that was all he did before he heeded the letter in Christophe’s care and got himself to safety.

 

Victor would die a thousand deaths if it meant sparing Yuuri’s life, without a single hesitation.

 

Maybe, if they were lucky, the information Yuuri had gotten would help Sara get Apulia free? That’s what Victor hoped at least, that everyone he cared for was safe; for he never had the chance to protect his mother from the same fate.

 

And it was on his mother now that his thoughts dwelled, trying to sort through the haze of his own memories as a boy of but nine to remember those last days with her. He’d remembered her attendant being banned from the room, under doctor’s orders, so she didn’t get sick as well; not that it helped any, for she had died of shock but a few days after Zhenya had. 

 

But it was only now, older and wiser, that he found it strange that him and his father received no such ban from her presence. Why if anything his father had spent more time with his wife than he had in years!

 

It was a fact that now settled in Victor’s stomach with a hollow realization; for it had not been compassion but cruelty that had made him keep his vigil. He was waiting, under the guise of a caring husband who gave food and drink to her despite her inability to keep much down, because he wanted to make sure the job was done right.

 

Victor felt sick, bitterness in his throat like a sour wine; or perhaps more accurately, a poisoned one.

 

A stray thought came to him, that of Christophe and then a question of if his mother suffered the same; had Lady Giacometti died not of shock, but of the same poison as her mistress? Right now, he thought it more likely than not. His father’s past was full of people who’d died far too young. Victor’s mother, Christophe’s mother, Yuri’s mother… all of them dying seemingly out of the blue with symptoms doctors only thought were a mild trouble of the stomach that would sort itself out after a few days. 

 

But if his father had only tonight discovered his connection with the Vermilion Rose, then why had he tried to poison him in the days before?

 

Something wasn’t adding up and Victor found himself frustrated with a lack of answer.

 

If he was going to die, then he at least wanted to know why his father was so determined to kill him.

 

How many hours had gone past while he idled on these thoughts, Victor could not have told anyone; but at some point in the night, the good captain took the guard at the door and not long after he did, a familiar voice came from outside of it.

 

“Let me in.”

 

“I can’t…”

 

“Did my father outright say you are to ignore my orders?” Yuri snapped.

 

“No.”

 

“Then that’s his mistake. Let me in and give us some space.”

 

Victor could tell by the shadow through the small window that JJ had hesitated, and he knew he was thinking of Isabella and her safety. But after a moment, there was a jangle of keys and the door cracked open.

 

“Okay, but be quick. I don’t want anyone else getting arrested.”

 

Yuri took a step in before turning back, his lips in a contemplative frown. “Just stand at the top of the stairs. You can lock me in, I don’t care.”

 

The captain obliged, Yuri not moving until they’d heard the footsteps retreat up the stairwell.

 

Finally, he looked to Victor, something strange burning behind his green eyes.

 

Victor forced a smile. “I’m guessing you have questions about what happened tonight?”

 

The boy snorted, crossing the small cell to sit opposite Victor on the stone bench.

 

“I have a lot of questions and not a lot of time, but if I wanted the truth I had to come here. Even though…”

 

A momentary look of concern folded itself into his gaze, his hands clutching tight at his breeches.

 

“Even though?”

 

There was steel in the green eyes when he glanced back to Victor. “Otabek’s missing. So is Potya.”

 

His attendant and his cat. His father was keeping hostages now to make sure Yuri didn’t interfere.

 

Victor swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

 

It fell silent, tense and awkward, years of not being close standing between them like a wall; even what little bridge of friendship they’d made in the last few days couldn’t be enough at a time like this.

 

“What’s the truth, Victor?” he finally murmured. “I’ve heard everything from the fact you’re planning a coup with the Apulians to the fact you’re sleeping with the Vermilion Rose. What really happened?”

 

Victor let out a hollow laugh. “Figures, for once the rumors aren’t that untrue after all.”

 

There’s a flash of something unreadable in Yuri’s eyes and for a moment, Victor feared it was anger at him; and even if it was slight, his body’s instinct to shift further into the wall didn’t go unnoticed by the boy.

 

“Tell me,” and it was the quietest and meekest he’d ever heard his brother. “Please. I need to hear it from you.”

 

And softly, his voice sounding distant and foreign to his own ears, Victor tried to provide an answer to all that was surely on his mind. 

 

He started with seven years before, telling of the real reason he’d been under doctor’s care for months after the execution of the seventeen Apulians, then he talked of how desperate he was for that not to be repeated when the Bakers Revolt happened. And how somehow he found himself able to help-  _ Midnight. Emperor’s Ball. Library. _

 

Yuri must’ve been in such shock to hear these things, he didn’t even become angry on finding out that Victor  _ had _ indeed ruined his plans that night and warned the Vermilion Rose. 

 

Instead, he asked in whisper. “Then you and him…”

 

“Are together?” Victor gave a wry smile. “Currently, yes. But that took a bit. Ofantina kind of made things difficult for awhile.”

 

The implication washed over his brother in a tidal wave and Victor continued before he could stop himself; about how desperate he’d become to help that he’d donned his own disguise as Psyche, about how wonderful it felt to finally be helping people, about how eventually the leader of the Vermilion Rose called Eros came back to Victor.

 

“Then… who really stabbed you?” he asked when Victor paused to catch his breath.

 

Victor ran a hand up through his bangs, staring up at the ceiling, as he told how it happened. How Eros came to know who Psyche was and Victor came to know who he was behind the mask. That he’d been in Yamato healing, but the sudden ball meant they had to return right away. Then Victor finished the story up until that night and his father finding out about the kiss they’d shared at the carriage.  

 

Yuri had gone quiet, and for a moment, Victor feared that he might stand up and walk out without saying a word; but after what felt like ages, he finally met his eyes once more.

 

“You… love him, don’t you?”

 

Victor’s hand drifted to that pin still there in his cravat as he replied.

 

“More than life itself.”

 

Yuri hastily got to his feet, and before Victor could wonder if he was truly going to leave this time, he walked closer and settled his hands on Victor’s shoulders; green eyes warmer than he’d ever seen them before.

 

“Tell me how to find him, Victor. Please. He’s the only way I can help you.”

 

He darted his eyes away. “I won’t exchange his life for mine, Yuri. Nothing you can ask will change my mind on that.”

 

“Idiot!” and the voice was so sharp it felt like a slap. “I’ve already tried to kill him twice, and you think I’m still going to do it again after all you’ve told me?!”

 

Victor blinked, the words striking him but not settling into his mind.

 

“I can’t break you out of here, or Otabek and Potya... “ he trailed off, that softness in his worry clouding his eyes before he turned back to Victor with them blazing green once more. “But he can. Please.”

 

He dropped his eyes. “I told him to leave me and save himself.”

 

This time, his brother’s words were accompanied by a sharp shake of his shoulders. “Stupid Victor! Do you not realize the sort of loyalty people have to you?”

 

Victor stared.

 

“I saw him at the ball, Victor. I saw how he looked at you. And that is not the type of man who will leave you to die so he can save his own skin. He’s spent the last month risking his life again and again for people he hasn’t even known,  _ of course _ he’s going to try and save someone he loves.”

 

The words finally hit as if a bullet, an ache in Victor’s chest even worse than being stabbed would ever be. Of course.  _ Of course _ Yuuri was going to try and save him, even if he begged him to leave.

 

If one more person wanted to help him, help  _ them _ , it would be stupid to stop them.

 

He raised his eyes to meet his brother’s, the tiniest thread of hope tugging at his heart. 

 

“He’s the man you found sleeping in the library at the Emperor’s Ball.”

 

The realization impacted like canonfire, his brother’s eyes momentarily burning with fury.

 

“ _ Fuck. _ ”

 

“Mad you didn’t realize it before now?”

 

He sat back and crossed his arms in a huff. “N-No.”

 

Victor wondered if that might be all he said on the matter, but to his surprise, he muttered out more.

 

“I can’t believe I tried to kill  _ him _ twice.”

 

And perhaps it was the stress and strain and worry, but Victor laughed; Yuri lightly punching him in the shoulder until he stopped. But the laughter jostled all his thoughts back into his mind, everything suddenly clearer now; the path ahead something he could see.

 

“Don’t leave the castle to try and find him, Yuri. Please. You can’t risk upsetting father while your companions are missing.”

 

“But-”

 

“Listen!”

 

They both froze at the sound of footsteps drawing closer and they exchanged a worried look.

 

Victor knew how little time remained, how if anyone saw his brother just conversing with him it would raise suspicion; and he quickly pulled him into a hug, voice as quiet as possible as he whispered in his ear what he would need to do.

 

The guard, one of those that Victor knew was among his father’s favorites, peered in the window and Victor clutched his brother tighter.

 

“I’m sorry, Yuri.”

 

He pulled back, holding him at arm’s length and putting on the most distressed expression he could fake.

 

“But what they say is true. Now please, go. You don’t want to be caught associating with a traitor like me.”

 

The boy caught on, a brief flicker of something kind in his eyes snuffed out and replaced by feigned fury.

 

“I hate you,” he muttered low and cold and very convincing.

 

Victor could see the guard’s look of satisfaction as Yuri stormed out of the cell and pushed his way through the door before racing back up the stairs; the man smugly remarking as he drew the cell closed once more.

 

“I’m glad to see one of you children is doing the right thing.”

 

He shot the man a hurt look before turning away, hiding his face against the wall.

 

For Victor knew, could see it behind that mask of indifference when he said it, what Yuri had really meant when he said those words and stormed out.

 

It was his own way of saying he loved Victor, and despite appearances, his brother was indeed about to do the right thing.

 

* * *

 

At the sight of two horsemen approaching from the north, Sara had brought her horse to a halt; calling back to the group behind her to do the same.

 

Mila rode up beside her and frowned at the approaching shadows.

 

“I don’t think it’s soldiers. They’d send more than two.”

 

Sara had thought the same, and that was why she’d not called the samurai and armed civilians with them to arms; leaving them where they walked or rode near the royal carriage. Even if they were lookouts for the guard, with only two they could be easily dealt with.

 

But as they drew closer, the vestiges of the night just beginning to fade in a haze, Sara caught a glimpse of two familiar faces through the fog.

 

She dismounted, ignoring Mila’s exclamation, and ran towards them.

 

Had it truly been over a month since she’d seen them last? Why the days before the revolution, before  _ Mila _ , felt years ago.

 

“Mickey! Emil!”

 

The horses slowed at her voice, and she could see the surprise on her brother’s face at seeing her attired so… gentlemanly; but even then, Michele barely allowed the horse to slow before he had jumped off and rushed towards her outstretched arms.

 

“Sara!” He wrapped her in his usual too-tight hug, his words already stumbling to get out. “Are you well? Have you been eating properly? Any unwanted suitors I need to address?”

 

“Jeez Mickey, say hello first,” Emil scolded, flashing Sara a smile. “We’ve heard all about your work from Eros and his companions. Your dad would be  _ so _ proud!”

 

He dismounted at that, and to Sara’s surprise, her brother actually stepped back to allow Emil to come forward and hug her; something he was usually a bit more overbearing about.

 

“We missed you something fierce, but it looks like you’re doing pretty well without us.”

 

Emil shot a pointed look at Michele as he said it, and Sara couldn’t help but smile.

 

“Yes, I suppose I am.”

 

She could see the wariness in her brother’s gaze as it darted from her to beside her, and Sara turned to find Mila waiting back patiently. And perhaps it was the warmth of the people’s support behind them, or maybe she was just tired and delirious, but she extended a hand towards her and once Mila took it, Sara tugged her close.

 

“Mila has…” she paused, gauging the look in her brother’s eyes, “she’s been taking very good care of me.”

 

Mila’s arm settled around her waist, her blue eyes meeting Michele’s odd glance steadily.

 

“I may have to apologize,” she began, “I know I promised I’d keep Sara out of trouble and romance, but I’ve very much failed on both accounts.”

 

Michele’s eyes flashed violet and immediately he was clutching at Sara’s hands, searching her expression worriedly.

 

Sara couldn’t help it, and she huffed out a laugh.

 

“Mick-ey,” she intoned, “stop scowling. The only trouble was to be expected given the fact we’re trying to set our country free.”

 

His grip lessened at that, but the sharpness of his eyes didn’t budge. As expected, that’s not the issue that was  _ really _ bothering him, but instead of starting in on a rant like he usually might, he darted his eyes to Emil and then back to Sara. 

 

To her surprise, it was Emil that spoke up next.

 

“I might have told him he couldn’t lecture you about causing trouble,” he said casually, looping his arm around Michele’s shoulders, “considering how much we gotten into, it’s only fair.”

 

Michele actually stepped back at that, his frown softening around the edges.

 

Sara hesitated, but something about the touch of Mila’s hand upon her hip spurred her onward; barreling bravely forward towards the one topic she feared her brother might truly take issue with.

 

“And… what about the romance?”

 

Mila’s hold tightened, and for one brief moment, Sara worried that she might indeed need to fight off Michele for her hand. But Emil’s hand was firm on Michele’s shoulder, and if anything, Emil’s smile grew wider at the question.

 

As for her brother, Michele’s expression had shifted into something… odd, almost unreadable at first; but slowly, with but a flicker of his eyes to Emil and back, Sara found herself understanding.

 

“Oh my God, are you serious?!”

 

To anyone, like Mila, who might be unaccustomed to life with the Crispinos, the conversation might have appeared one sided, but perhaps because they were twins and were close, sometimes words became only optional between them.

 

Especially when it came to Michele’s feelings about anything that  _ wasn’t _ Sara.

 

She was grinning before she could stop herself, hoping it wasn’t too smug. “Can’t lecture me on that either, can you?”

 

Michele crossed his arms and darted his eyes away. “I-It’s only temporary. I told him I needed your approval first.”

 

And really, it figured, that when circumstance  _ finally _ broke through the tension that had been steadily rising between Emil and Michele, Sara would find herself in the odd position of,  _ for once _ , being the sibling that needed to approve of the match.

 

Her warm laughter spilt out into the twilight.

 

“Mickey, you idiot. I’ve been  _ waiting _ for you to ask!”

 

He blinked, clearly perplexed, but Emil just laughed as well, tugging him even closer.

 

“Apparently we needed a bit of a push. Like a literal push. By an assassin sent by Demyan that almost made me a lovely bloodstain on the castle grounds. Michele about lost it.”

 

“You almost died!” he snapped.

 

Yet for one brief flicker, Sara could see the affection in her brother’s eyes, before he buried it back under his gruffiness.

 

She smiled. “I’m happy for you, Mickey. Take good care of him, Emil. He’s a handful.”

 

Emil just shrugged. “Oh trust me,  _ I know _ . But enough about us- who’s the lucky lad in your life?”

 

Sara shook her head, then knowing her own affection was probably blazing in her eyes, she turned to Mila.

 

“No lad. I found someone stronger than that.”

 

“Well, that got around your no dating guys clause for sure, Mickey,” Emil teased.

 

But Michele’s eyes had narrowed on Mila’s and he studied her a moment as if trying to judge if she was worthy or not.

 

“I… suppose,” he muttered. “But if you break her heart, I won’t hold back just because you’re a girl.”

 

“Mickey,” Sara retorted, “she’d kick your ass.”

 

“That’s beside the point!”

 

Mila just chuckled, holding a hand towards him. “Don’t worry, I can’t see myself ever doing anything to harm her. If anyone does, you can join me in kicking  _ their _ ass, if you want.”

 

And Sara thought that it might be her imagination, but for one moment there was a hint of a smile on her brother’s face as he gave Mila’s hand a shake.

 

As they remounted their horses and began once more towards Sigrosk, Emil filled them in on what he could; explaining what they’d gone looking for and what they’d found.

 

“Then why did you come back for us?” Sara asked, not sure she understood Yuuri’s reasoning in putting such important documents out of his reach.

 

“He said he wanted to make sure Apulia could get their freedom,” Michele said softly, as if even he held a bit of respect for the leader of the Vermilion Rose. “That it was more important than anyone else.”

 

At the mention, Sara thought of the missing princess, and she now wondered aloud if they’d seen the carriage when they rode south.

 

But like everything else, Yuuri had already taken care of it.

 

“She’s safe, with the Emperor of Yamato right now, if I understood correctly,” Emil noted. “Apparently, Demyan was going to force her to marry his youngest son in a rush job to try and keep Apulia before you got to Sigrosk. The guy’s gone crazy. He’s arrested Prince Victor for treason.”

 

They were almost at Chalcedon now and Sara knew at the pace they were keeping, they would reach the capital by sunrise. Her eyes were far away as she looked north.

 

“Then let us get to them soon. Eros has got enough to worry about if Victor’s in trouble, and what we have could be the difference at a time like this.”

 

“Even now,” Mila murmured, so quiet Sara almost didn’t hear it over the hoofbeats, “Eros is risking everything for our sake.”

 

Sara nodded, and she could feel the worry settling around her heart at the news.

 

“Now it’s up to do the same for him.”

 

* * *

 

For a last minute plan, so far everything was going smoothly.

 

They’d easily overtaken the carriage just outside Chalcedon and taken the place of the Velian guard; or, in Guang Hong’s case, the place of the Apulian princess.

 

And with the help of the royal playwright, Guang Hong made a very convincing double of the girl; long flowing brown curls cascading down his back and a much better dress than the one they’d sent the real princess in. 

 

The rest of them settled for uniforms of the Velian guard, and in Christophe and Georgi’s case, lest they be recognized, some natural colored wigs in styles differing vastly from their own; Georgi’s now an elegant long ponytail with curls bouncing at his cheekbones and Christophe in a similar wig of brown.

 

They handed off the “princess” to some of the royal guard that Christophe noted under his breath were extremely loyal to the king, made some excuse about needing refreshments after such a hard drive and were, as Yuuri had predicted, instructed to take the carriage around back to the door to the kitchen.

 

It was Isabella, the royal cook, who answered the door.

 

Even then, Phichit could see Yuuri’s shoulders relax; for they’d feared she might already be held captive somewhere to ensure the captain’s obedience in the morning. 

 

The woman was kind, and upon recognizing Yuuri, quick to answer questions and offer help, insisting sweetly that they at least eat some leftover pastries before they began their work for the night. Georgi, along with Seung-gil, escorted Isabella safely out in the carriage, easily concocting some tale to keep them from looking inside said carriage as it cleared the gates, and Phichit knew the knowledge that one more life was safe made them all breathe a sigh of relief.

 

Christophe took them down hidden passages meant for servants to where the laundry for the castle was done, all of them switching from Velian colors into something different for the rest of the night. Leo left them first, attired as a royal guard, so he could make the barracks in time for the switching of the overnight guard there, and Yuuri, having donned his red velvets and silks, slipped into the shadows to ensure he was able to do everything he could for Victor.

 

This left Phichit with Victor’s attendant, Christophe.

 

They’d donned the garrish orange livery of the palace servants, and Phichit was frowning down at the bright colors, already thinking how it was going to be impossible  _ not _ to be noticed in them.

 

As it was, they were practically waving bright flags adorned with trim of Demyan’s royal crest.

 

“I think you’re pulling this off better than me,” Christophe remarked with a frown.

 

Phichit offered a smile. “Yeah, you’re normally in blue, right?”

 

“Attendants of the two princes wear their royal colors in respect to their heritage, thank God for that. Well, and honestly I doubt the king would allow me to wear  _ his _ colors.”

 

He raised an eyebrow at that, for although it was exceedingly obvious that Christophe’s loyalty had always rested with Victor, this hadn’t been the first remark around them that implied Demyan did not like him much.

 

“You mentioned something about that earlier when you got to the ship. You said Victor was insistent that you get to safety, because he knew his father would be glad to make an example of you.”

 

Christophe shrugged, both of them dropping their voices now as they made it through the quiet passages.

 

“He’s never been fond of me, that’s for certain. Then again, he doesn’t trust foreigners in his household at all; even if just by heritage. And my parents were both old enough to have lived in Silesia before it became part of the Larussian Empire. But one of his advisors was good friends with my father and that’s how my mother got the position as the queen’s attendant when my father died at war.”

 

There was a tug at Phichit’s heart, for he knew that his mother had died not long after the queen; why Yuuri had even suspected that the woman had done just as Christophe had and had accidentally been poisoned when she’d tried to test the queen’s drink. It made sense that then orphaned, a family friend might do their best to ensure Christophe had a future.

 

“Oh trust me, I know how he feels about foreigners,” Phichit muttered back and the two of them shared a silent laugh.

 

Without Victor present, the tower he normally resided in was empty, for there was no one to guard and no one to serve there at all. So feeling pretty assured of themselves, they slipped into Christophe’s small quarters adjacent to Victor’s room. 

 

As to be expected, the room wasn’t much; mostly a bed and a vanity and wash basin all of middling quality. Phichit suspected the rooms of the king’s attendants probably weren’t so nicely furnished, that was unless Demyan was buying their loyalty with favor, something he really wouldn’t put past the man.

 

Christophe gestured to it with a shrug. “Well, here it is. Home sweet home.”

 

“Such a great view of a stone wall!” Phichit joked.

 

It earned him a chuckle, and then it fell silent a moment between them; as if the reality of their circumstances had finally permeated through into their bones now that they were here in the tower and Victor was not.

 

“I was only seven when she died, so I’m honestly unsure if some of these items were hers or the queen’s gifts to her. But I kept everything, even the furniture.”

 

He didn’t say it aloud, but Phichit could hear what he’d left unsaid.

 

_ It was all I had. _

 

Phichit’s hand was on Christophe’s shoulder before he could stop himself; and there was that flicker of green eyes in his direction, looking almost emerald in the low lantern light, surprise giving way to something unreadable.

 

“I guess we’d best just search through everything?”

 

They were asking a lot of Christophe. Not only was Victor’s life in danger, but now they were asking him to sort through the belongings of his dead mother for a scrap of paper that might not even be there; and hoping to lighten the pressure that was already settling into his posture, Phichit put on a bright smile and motioned towards the bed.

 

“Do you mind if I sit?”

 

The smile was infectious, because somehow, Christophe was smiling now too.

 

“I will never turn down attractive men in my bed, Mr. Chulanont.”

 

He gave his shoulder a playful shove as he took a seat and gestured towards the vanity.

 

“Where should we start?”

 

Christophe picked up a few items, but paused, a teasing lilt slipping into his tone.

 

“First we take off these horrid orange jackets,” he murmured.

 

It appeared the best way to ease Christophe’s stress was in flirtation, and not about to leave a man in trouble hanging, Phichit was quick to adapt his cheerful optimism where it was needed.

 

The less all of them thought about the realities that were coming with the dawn, the better they could focus on the task at hand.

 

“You’re going to need to be on a first-name basis before I start undressing,” Phichit shot back with a grin. “So please, call me Phichit.”

 

It got the laugh he was trying for and the tension eased out of Christophe’s shoulders, his eyes now wistful but still warm as he rummaged through his mother’s belongings on the vanity.

 

There was a scent bottle in peach, reading ‘Tout pour vous’ and adorned with flowers, but all it contained was perfume. Items of cloth such as stockings, gloves or handkerchiefs hid nothing but brought a fond curl to Christophe’s lips all the same. A snuff box that read “You are witty and pretty” gave him a laugh as he assured Phichit she was indeed both. Soon all too brief memories joined most of the items as they were handed over to Phichit, both of them searching through purses and trying to decide if there was secret meaning to the embroidery work that adorned them.

 

It wasn’t long before the offensive orange coats had been discarded, both of them rolling up their sleeves as they started rifling through vanity compartments and drawers; unearthing makeup and jewelry, a small miniature portrait of the late queen, and another pendant that had a lock of hair knotted elegantly inside. 

 

As the hours wore on, Phichit could feel that prickle of worry nagging at the back of his mind; telling him over and over-  _ you’re running out of time! _

 

In his desperation, and his own memories of his mother’s vanity’s extra compartment if you knew where to look spurring him on, he slid his fingertips against the joints of the wood.

 

There, in the center of the vanity, something shifted.

 

“Chris,” for somehow hours of shared stories about mothers and long shed coats had brought their familiarity up to that, “I think there’s another compartment.”

 

He stepped back, allowing Chris to try the same corner and his eyes turned to Phichit bright and hopeful; both of them now stepping back and trying to pry the wood up.

 

But it wouldn’t move.

 

“I swear I felt  _ something _ ,” Phichit huffed out.

 

Christophe rubbed at his eyes, the hours they’d spent searching and not sleeping taking their toll, and he settled his hand down hard against the surface and leaned.

 

The wood slid back, ever so slightly, but enough.

 

Green eyes met Phichit’s, and together, they pushed it along the seams, a small inner compartment opening before them; and nestled in the center an ornate ivory box with a key.

 

“Please tell me it’s not just a sewing box,” Phichit breathed out, knowing the look of it and dreading that they’d just found another dead end.

 

Gently, Christophe turned the key and lifted the lid, a drawer beneath sliding out.

 

At first glance, it was indeed, a sewing box. 

 

Small little sections opening to scissors or needles or thimbles, thread and spools nestled in the lowest drawer, but along the silk lining of the lid there was a small loop of ribbon. Phichit slid up behind Christophe, their arms brushing together, as he reached out for it.

 

“What’s this?”

 

They pulled it open and there was a thin silk pouch attached to a garter, elaborately hand embroidered and reading ‘Pour Toujours’ on the outside of it, but when Phichit ran his finger along the inner pocket, all that was inside was a large bodkin needle.

 

Christophe let out a resigned huff at that and turned to Phichit, both of them completely foregoing personal space at this point.

 

“Maybe…” and he let out a heavy sigh, “maybe she never had it, after all.”

 

Phichit could hear it in his words, his fears that this one last chance to help Victor was not to be.

 

But Phichit’s mind was still focused on the needle. It wasn’t a needle one used for sewing persay, for it was blunt tipped and rather too large for that; but many women kept one close if they needed to relace a corset or stay.

 

That’s where his thoughts lingered. For he’d seen it before with female customers during fittings, and every single of one of them of higher class, didn’t just keep the needle loose or in a pocket somewhere. No, all of them had a small case that the needle resided in!

 

Suddenly, his hands couldn’t move fast enough, his fingers fumbling as they once more unlocked the bottom drawer of the box and yanked it hard until the contents spilled out into the space around it.

 

There, mixed in amidst spools of thread and thimbles was a small porcelain case, adorned with two pastoral scenes and the text ‘Secret en Amour’ wrapped around it, and although they’d opened it before to only see a tuft of ribbon, something told Phichit that the only reason to not keep the bodkin in its case would be if there was something else taking up space in it.

 

He opened it with shaking hands and turned it upside down; the small pink ribbon falling out, followed by tightly rolled parchment. And Phichit looked to Christophe with eyes wide.

 

“There’s another case,” he said softly. “The one with the scissors.”

 

They threw open the lid and unearthed it from its compartment, flipping it over and watching as once more the items tumbled out before a roll of paper followed.

 

By the time they finished going back through every small container that had seemed full of something else, they’d unearthed seven pieces of paper written in two different hands.

 

It was the one out of the seven that was the plainest, folded tightly down into a small roll, with only the words ‘pour vous’ on the outside that they they opened first, and right away just by the beginning words they knew, this was the one.

 

“We found it!” Phichit exclaimed, throwing his arms around Chris in his excitement.

 

Christophe returned the gesture and gave him a tight hug. He was just about to say something in reply when they heard loud footsteps on the stairs that were soon followed by the pounding on the door.

 

“Open in the name of the king!”

 

They exchanged a wary look, and silently, Phichit started trying to find a way to secure all the papers. Knowing that it would be mostly him now fighting his way out of here, he started stuffing them into Christophe’s waistband.

 

“Don’t let anyone take these from you,” he breathed out in a whisper. “Victor’s life and possibly all of ours depends on the safety of those papers.”

 

He nodded silently, his own hands sliding down to settle at Phichit’s waist.

 

“Can you fight?”

 

And Phichit was grinning, with that sparkle of adventure surely shining bright in his eyes, as he replied with a wink.

 

“Oh just you watch.”

 

He grabbed up his two swords from the bed, made sure Chris was behind him and sweetly called out.

 

“Come in~!”

 

The door swung open with a bang, two guards looking somewhat surprised to have actually found the source behind the noise they heard from below. 

 

Phichit rotated his wrists, slowly spinning his blades towards the men. He pulled up short, twisting his wrist back the other direction and using the long hilt of his sword to strike down at the man’s head.

 

He fell to the ground. And as his companion stared uncomprehending, for surely he’d never seen Ayutthayan sword technique before, Phichit easily knocked him down as well.

 

Standing over the two unconscious guards, he shifted both blades to his right, the two halves of the handle sliding into a whole, and held out his left hand towards Chris.

 

“Come on, we’ve got to hurry!”

 

Who knew how many hours had passed, for they’d been in a room without windows, and now when he caught a glimpse from one in the stairwell, there was far too much light for it to still be night.

 

They had to get to Yuuri and Victor now, before it was too late.

 

“Chris, stay close behind me.”

 

He chuckled, sliding up close and resting a hand on Phichit’s back. “At least I’ve got the best view,” he teased.

 

And not caring if any other guards heard him, Phichit laughed, shooting a glance over his shoulder with a grin.

 

“Oh I  _ like _ you. So no dying.”

 

“No dying,” Chris repeated.

 

Just like that, they were racing down the stairwell, Phichit’s swords dancing out at any sign of the guards and making quick work of them; pulse like a drumbeat calling him to battle.

 

Yuuri had warned him not to be make a scene until Demyan had left the castle, but something in his blood told him that time was now; for the more royal guards he could draw into the castle the less Yuuri and the others had to deal with interfering outside.

 

By the time they reached the base of the stairs, the hallway now clogged with every guard within earshot of the racket, Phichit was laughing.

 

But really, after constantly speculating that Yuuri or Guang Hong might take on the whole Larussian army singlehandedly, it figured that instead it appeared that task fell to him.

 

“Drop your weapons and surrender!” one of the guards called out.

 

Phichit leaned back, glad to know Christophe was still safely behind him, and shot the guards a grin.

 

“Oh my, there’s... “ he paused, counting off the number of men gathered, “ten of you and one of me. That seems a little unfair, don’tcha think?”

 

The men didn’t move and Phichit’s eyes sparkled with something mischievous. 

 

“I meant, it’s unfair for you,” he continued, and before the men could even react, he’d moved.

 

Years of training in the royal courts of Ayutthaya against older brothers and sisters had honed his technique, and honestly most Amoricans didn’t know what to do when faced with someone wielding two swords. If they tried to attack to the left, suddenly that sword was twisted by a roll of the wrist into defensive position; leaving the right completely open to attack back before they could even recover their blade.

 

It was almost sad, how  _ easily _ these guards fell apart when faced with an unfamiliar fighting style; all of them blundering around helpless as Phichit’s blades spun to and fro; one by one swords clattered to the ground and with knees and arms and the hilt of his blade, he made sure that the man who had wielded it was soon to follow after.

 

He’d hardly broken a sweat by the time all ten were down and over the groaning remains of the fight, he spotted Christophe still standing at the end of the hallway where he’d left him.

 

Chris met his eyes. “Oh I  _ like _ you.”

 

There was the sound of more soldiers coming, the front of the castle now swarming in them, but Phichit was quick to motion Christophe back behind him.

 

“Stick as close as you can,” he murmured, mentally taking note of where Chris stood to allow for it in the swing of his blades. “We’ve got to disable as many as possible and get out to the others.”

 

He nodded, a fierceness even in his gaze now that wasn’t there before; and to Phichit’s surprise he picked up the nearest bronze candelabra from its rest atop a decorative pillar and blew out the candles in one breath, wielding it now as a weapon before him.

 

“I’ve got your back,” Christophe replied with a wink.

 

“Oh good, that’s my best attribute,” Phichit teased back.

 

Somehow, tension and stress and worry had all distilled down into this almost giddy lightness in his chest. He’d heard Yuuri and Guang Hong talk of it with such affection before, that bone-deep feeling of excitement at nothing more but the thrill of it all, pulling them like one sturdy thread along for the ride. 

 

Now, he understood what they meant.

 

It wasn’t smugness or ego or some brash overconfident feeling of being invincible that men like Demyan brandished like a sword; apt to be their downfall sooner or later. No, this was something was born of bravery and justice and adventure and built on the foundations of friendship and loyalty and love!

 

An innate feeling deep at the core of one’s soul that believed with almost childlike wonder that somehow, despite the odds, good would triumph over evil in the end.

 

And with that faith in good held aloft like a shield, Phichit looked out at the over twenty guards in the foyer and turned back to Christophe with a smile.

 

“Remember, no dying,” he reminded.

 

Chris laughed warm and rich.

 

“Same to you.”


	17. True Nobility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow hope you're ready for this one! Epilogue on Friday :D

What little sleep Victor had gotten was fitful and restless.

 

It wasn’t so much the conditions, although they were by no means comfortable on his already injured body, but more so his mind that would just not let him sleep; full of worries that could not be easily appeased.

 

He worried for his brother, for if the worst did come to pass then who would be there to keep this from someday becoming his fate as well? His father might buy his compliance for now with hostages, but just like Victor, sooner or later the boy would find a way to ensure their safety so he could do as he pleased.

 

And when Demyan was involved, that amounted to treason.

 

He worried too for a princess he’d never met before, only hearing snippets of her transfer from Velia to Sigrosk and her placement in the cell adjacent to Victor’s; but she sounded scared and confused and all the guards gave her in return was the taunt that she’d change her mind come morning.

 

When the guard changed once more to the good captain, Victor had quietly gotten up and walked to the door and asked him if the girl was doing okay.

 

“Even now, you’re thinking of the people, aren’t you?” JJ replied.

 

Victor rested his forehead against the door, his eyes drifting closed.

 

“What’s to become of her?” he asked, fearing the worst.

 

The answer wasn’t much better. A forced marriage by threatening to kill her family in order for Demyan to legally keep Apulia in a way no Apulian would dare argue; for the people might despise their Larussian king, but their loyalty to their previous royal family had been absolute. It explained a few things, like why Demyan had already taken his brother’s companions hostage, and why it sounded like she’d be brought as witness to Victor’s death. That would definitely make her reconsider any rash actions if the king showed no qualms about killing his own son.

 

His mind then shifted to another worry, another loved one that might be injured if someone didn’t follow orders; but he knew better than to ask about Isabella and her safety when there could be another guard just outside his line of vision.

 

Everyone had something, some _one_ , to lose.

 

Minutes, hours- Victor had no idea how much more time was left to him and here he was helpless to do anything to help anyone of them.

 

All he could do was hope. Hope and pray that Yuuri had heard of their plights. Hope and pray that Yuuri would save them all before he came for Victor.

 

But when there rose a commotion in the space outside his cell, it was the arrival of the morning guards to serve as escort and not any means of escape. Victor was put in heavy shackles that bound his wrists behind him and forced out of the cell with a hard shove.

 

Of course his father would make sure this guard was full of his favorite men, those that had been just as ruthless and cruel as he had in past battles and therefore earned his favor.

 

His only relief was the sight of the young girl, perhaps only a year or two older than his brother, raising her head for one brief moment and holding his gaze as the men roughly took hold of her arms.

 

She was not shackled, the strength of the men and the threat to her family more than enough to keep her complacent, but even so everyone froze when she quietly held out a hand towards Victor.

 

They were crammed in the small space between the cells, the captain and three men, two to each prisoner; so it was by no means hard for her to cross what little space was between them to press a gentle hand to his cheek.

 

Her smile was warm and full of compassion. “On behalf of the people,” she said softly, “thank you for your bravery.”

 

Somehow, the poor girl had heard of his fate and what had brought him to it, and here she was offering him a soft token of hope amidst the spiraling fears that were threatening to consume Victor’s mind.

 

The men roughly jerked her back into place, and Victor’s two guards followed suit, all of them ushered up the stairs. By the time they reached the outside of the castle, they were met with a fifth soldier carrying an armful of rifles along with his brother and father.

 

Yuri looked like he’d slept in his clothing, clearly having refused any attendant that wasn’t his own, and it was only the bunch of his waistcoat that made Victor realize perhaps he’d spent the night as restless as Victor had.

 

His father was attired in full military regalia, oranges and greens and a gold hilted sword at his hip, and given his firm hand on Yuri’s shoulder, it was apparent that he’s not about to let the boy even say a word to his brother before…

 

All the fears, all the worries, fell over Victor at once, leaving him numb and hollow and cold.

 

Maybe Yuuri listened to his letter. Maybe he was too busy trying to save someone else. Victor closed his eyes and let them drag him towards a post usually used for the horses and lock his shackled hands to it.

 

Demyan haughtily glared down at Victor, his blue eyes so cold and hateful as he stepped forward towards him.

 

“Will you tell me the identity of the traitor and wanted criminal that goes by the name of the Vermilion Rose?”

 

But no matter what fear and terror had taken up residence in his chest, he never once even considered betraying any of them.

 

“No.”

 

A slap rung out across the courtyard and Victor only registered after a second, thanks to the sudden rush of pain to his face, that it was him that had been hit.

 

Demyan turned from him, never looking back, his voice just as cold as his eyes as he spoke.

 

“Captain, you have heard it for yourself and bore witness. I hereby charge Victor Nikiforov with treason and sentence him to death.”

 

Victor could see the captain wince his eyes closed at the words, forcing the reply through clenched teeth.

 

“Yes, Sire.”

 

“On the count, you are to obey that order. Ready!”

 

Victor looked to his brother, green eyes wide with horror that he was helpless to stop, and he did his best to give the boy one last smile.

 

“Aim!”

 

He could feel his heartbeat racing, as if it realized it only had a few moments more before it beat its last, and he did his best to stand tall and proud.

 

But before his father could speak that one last fateful word, another voice called out, as if answering to Victor’s silent plea.

 

“Halt!”

 

Suddenly his vision was full of red, those velvets and silks so familiar to him now, and he prayed with all that he was that they didn’t shoot him on the spot.

 

“I’m here to make an exchange, Demyan.”

 

It was the most forceful Victor had ever heard Yuuri’s voice, and as if knowing what he would say next, Victor’s chest grew tight.

 

“My life in exchange for his.”

 

Demyan’s eyes were sharp, clearly trying to gauge if it was possible to take him with the men he had, but even he had some fear of the skills he’s heard this man possessed, and he turned to the captain instead.

 

“Captain, arrest him.”

 

But Yuuri was quick, easily stepping out of reach.

 

“Not until I have your promise that Victor shall be safe,” he countered.

 

Demyan sneered. “How romantic.”

 

The moments of pause were enough for thoughts to take place of racing heart, Victor’s mind quick to see the plan now; they’d intended for Yuuri to be captured and if he was, then they could have the emperor’s assistance and would easily overtake his father.

 

“Fine,” Demyan snapped in reply. “He lives as long as you die.”

 

The soldiers were quick to restrain him, Yuuri no longer giving up the slightest fight, and soon one was unshackling Victor’s wrists and taking hold of his arm to lead him away.

 

It was Yuri, so smart and sharp, that dared speak first. “Are you going to hold a public execution for him, father?”

 

“No. Kill him now.”

 

What Victor had felt before was nothing compared to this; that fear, that numbness paled in comparison. The plan _needed_ them to hold a public execution. It needed to give the emperor time to come and demand trial.

 

“No!”

 

Victor’s voice ripped from his throat, raw and hoarse, and he made a vain attempt to struggle free from the hold on his arms; Demyan looking at him with open disgust.

 

“Get him out of the way!”

 

“A moment, please!” Yuuri called out and Victor could hear something desperate in his tone.

 

This wasn’t the plan.

 

Yuuri didn’t even wait for permission, easily pulling himself free from their hold and rushing towards Victor; his hand pressing warm against his cheek as he gave him a sad smile.

 

“Victor, please. Trust me.”

 

His kiss was soft and tender upon Victor’s lips before he was roughly yanked away; Yuuri’s arms secured now in the same shackles that they’d taken off Victor. He watched frozen with terror as they secured him now to the pole in Victor’s place.

 

This wasn’t the plan and Yuuri was going to die.

 

But Yuuri’s eyes were still blazing, a fire steady and burning through that mask of red silk in beautiful brown.

 

“Don’t you want to know who I am?” he asked, casually as if it was but a talk over tea. “Much easier now, I think.”

 

Demyan gruffly gestured to the closest guard, and they moved forward and tugged the red silk away; warm brown eyes still bright and sparkling.

 

“ _You_ ,” Demyan growled.

 

Yuuri just grinned. “Thank you for paying so much for my work, your highness. It rather helped all the excess travel I’ve been involved in as of late.”

 

Was he stalling for time? Victor couldn’t make sense of it all, his own heart strangled by fear and beyond any chance of calm. He looked to his father, hoping he might take the bait and stall it even a moment more.

 

But he was not falling for it today.

 

“Captain, I have heard many tales of this man escaping at the last minute, so let me make this very clear. Once I order you begin, you are not to listen to any interruptions or disturbances until this man is dead on the ground. Is that understood?”

 

The poor captain, he couldn’t even do more than solemnly nod in reply and Victor felt his blood cold as ice on seeing three rifles held up and aimed to kill.

 

Victor tried fighting against the one that held him, but they held tight and at a sharp jab in his wounded side he doubled over in pain. The soldier, as cruel as his father, grabbed the back of his head and yanked it back up.

 

“Now now, you don’t want to miss this,” he muttered.

 

And distantly, Victor could hear his father giving out the commands, everything muffled and worlds away; his eyes locked on Yuuri’s and trying to believe in him this one last time.

 

“Ready!”

 

He could feel the tears hot as they splashed down his cheeks, the pain in his side feeling pleasant compared to the ache that was gripping now at his heart.

 

“Aim!”

 

Yuuri looked so brave and strong and even now. His lips wrapping around words that Victor could feel resounding in his soul.

 

 _I love you_.

 

“Fire!”

 

The gunshot reverberated through Victor’s mind, no sounds, not even his own pleading sobs registering but the loud crack of gunfire and the sickening sound of that bullet hitting its mark as Yuuri lurched forward; a red that never belonged on his outfit suddenly staining it dark.

 

And Victor knew at that moment, it would have hurt far less to be be killed himself than to witness this.

 

He was about to make one last attempt to free himself, desperate to at least touch him one last time, when his eyes caught the movement from the right; a blur of black and blonde as Demyan’s voice yelled out after it.

 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing!?”

 

“Saving his life, you bastard!” Yuri shot back.

 

His brother had made his way to Yuuri’s side and was now moving him until he was seated leaning back against the pole; his fingers already pushing aside fabric in search of the wound.

 

“Victor, get over here!”

 

Maybe it was the shock of what was unfolding before them, but the hold on his arms was loose enough now that Victor ripped himself free; stumbling forward in a rush until he was kneeling in the dirt at Yuuri’s side.

 

He was alive. At least for the moment.

 

“Can you breathe?” Yuri asked.

 

Yuuri’s eyes were glossy and faraway, his breath coming in long labored gasps that rattled at the end. He was making a valiant effort to try and keep his eyes open, but Victor could tell it was becoming harder and harder with each rattling breath.

 

Victor looked to his brother, helpless and pleading.

 

Suddenly, Yuri was scrambling at the front of his waistcoat, and before Victor knew it there were cloth bandages shoved into his hands.

 

“Over the wound. Put pressure on it. Now.”

 

He followed his brother’s instructions mechanically.

 

Yuri was moving his hand down Yuuri’s chest, as if calculating something, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration; then before Victor could even ask, he had pulled out a pocket knife and with the heel of his hand, pushed it into the opposite side of Yuuri’s chest.

 

As the narrow blade withdrew, Yuuri took a deep gasp of breath like a man surfacing from diving, and something small sparked to life again in his eyes.

 

“Victor...” he managed, breathing still strained and heavy.

 

Even now, he tried his best to force a smile.

 

“It just missed your heart,” Yuri murmured. “Just a bit too low. And too high for your stomach. That should’ve helped your lungs at least.”

 

The shot had hit near the center of Yuuri’s torso and already the blood was bleeding through the bandages.

 

“Is he going to live?” Victor heard his voice ask.

 

This was not what he’d expected when he’d begged his brother the night before to help Yuuri anyway he could, but somehow still, he’d done the right thing when Yuuri needed it most.

 

“He needs to get to a doctor soon,” Yuri muttered, “but he’s lucky our men can’t aim right or didn’t shoot.”

 

The world around them suddenly registered to Victor again and he realized for the first time that only one rifle had actually shot on command; for now the two others had theirs aimed instead at Demyan.

 

“What are you doing!? Shoot them! Shoot all of these traitors!” Demyan bellowed.

 

But the good captain held his head aloft and glared back. “No. I don’t listen to your orders anymore.”

 

And as if to punctuate the point, he reached down with a hand to grab the keys from his belt and tossed them towards Victor.

 

Victor’s hands were too slick with blood and trembling to be of any use, but Yuri managed to unlock the shackles and Yuuri let out a breath of relief as his wrists were freed.

 

He was shaking, perhaps more than Victor was, but he still brought his hand up to rest against Victor’s cheek.

 

“It’s going to be okay now, Victor. I promise.”

 

It sounded mad, but that’s when Victor heard the second guard who didn’t fire yell out towards Demyan.

 

“And you’re talking to the wrong guy if you expect me to listen to you _ever_ ,” the man said, and with a tug of his hand the ribbon let his short brown hair tumble free about his face.

 

Victor recognized him immediately. It was Leo.

 

There were three guards left standing, the one who shot, the one that had held Victor and one with the princess; and within seconds, they’d all dropped to the ground hard; the whirl of something on the end of a chain returning to the princess’s hands.

 

Victor knew that weapon and knew only one person who could use it.

 

It must have been Guang Hong then, dressed as the princess, that stooped to pick up the rifle from the unconscious guard, aiming it right at Demyan’s head. “Don’t move or we’ll all fire. And unlike your men, we don’t miss our marks.”

 

Suddenly Victor felt Yuuri grip at his collar and he turned, his eyes now focused solely on him once more.

 

“Victor,” and he still paused for breath, even if the rattle was gone, “there’s something I need to tell you. Now.”

 

He blinked. “What?”

 

His hold grew stronger, as if he was trying to pull himself up into Victor’s arms.

 

“We sent Michele and Emil, the other bakers, to Rodiania and to Novgorod. And they found out something you should know.”

 

Victor searched his gaze, trying to understand what could be so important that he had to tell him this now and his brother answered instead.

 

“Let me guess. Proof that both of our mothers were killed by antimony poisoning?”

 

Yuuri grimaced. “Sadly yes. Although we could only find record of it in Rodiania,” he took two deep breaths before continuing, “it appears that the alchemist in Novgorod had been paid off to keep quiet.”

 

Victor felt a weight settle in his stomach at that. He already knew it, but some part of him still didn’t want to believe it to be true.

 

“We suspected as much,” Yuri muttered.

 

“And…” Yuuri paused, coughing hard until some blood came to his lips. Victor immediately dabbed it away with his sleeve.

 

“Don’t strain yourself. We have time.”

 

But Yuuri shook his head. “No, you need to know this _now_. Your mother made a decree before she died that’s not been followed. And it affects you, Victor.”

 

He went still. Had she known she’d been poisoned? Was she trying to protect him somehow?

 

“What is it?”

 

Yuuri took a deep breath, a worrisome rattle to it, but his brown eyes were pleading with Victor to listen to him so he didn’t stop him from speaking once more.

 

“Legally, they were able to delay it until you came of age, but Demyan tried to destroy any evidence of it so you never found out.”

 

As he paused to catch his breath, Victor swept his bangs aside and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

 

“We found one copy. And we suspect Christophe’s mother was given another in case the first one was destroyed.”

 

He knew that look in Yuuri’s eyes, knew not to argue with him now about it, but he still worried every second that ticked past that he needed help now; but Yuuri sat up, reaching out to clutch tighter at Victor’s sleeve, his eyes never losing their focus.

 

“The Larussian crown can only be held by someone of the Nikiforov bloodline. When you turned sixteen, Demyan was supposed to step down.”

 

Victor’s heart leapt at that, both in sadness and in relief; for the idea that the country could have been spared Demyan’s actions these last eleven years brought him such sorrow, but the knowledge that now he could no longer harm the people gave him such hope.

 

“Then that means…” his brother had begun to stare at Victor, his eyes wide.

 

Yuuri’s smile looked bright and warm even through his pain, his hand coming up to rest upon Victor’s cheek.

 

“Don’t you understand, love?”

 

And somehow, impossibly so, the warmth only grew as he spoke once more.

 

“Victor, _you_ are the king of Larussia.”

 

Had it not been Yuuri, Victor would not have believed it, for it seemed too impossible to be true; but with his beloved’s hand upon his cheek and his loving smile as accompaniment, Victor found he had no choice but to accept it as fact.

 

Since he was sixteen, he was to have been ruler of Larussia.

 

All the what ifs, all the horrors of those last eleven years reverberated in his mind, and before he could stop himself, he had shifted the hold of Yuuri over to his brother.

 

“Please, take care of him.”

 

He pressed one last kiss to his forehead, an understanding smile on Yuuri’s lips, and then Victor stood, turning now with purpose towards the captain; and once beside him, he reached for the blade at his hip.

 

“May I borrow this, JJ?”

 

The man cracked a smile. “Give him hell for us, your highness.”

 

Victor strode across the distance between them, his blade now drawn and ready as he finally met Demyan’s eyes.

 

“You heard what he said. Stand down.”

 

Demyan’s lip curled. “And what? You believe him over me because he’s a good _fuck_?”

 

Victor tensed, eyes flashing. He was livid. “No. Because he’s a good _person_.”

 

He rushed forward, watching as Demyan drew his blade, and tried to strike before he could counter, but he was too fast. If there was one thing Victor knew Demyan excelled at, it was the fight, and their blades locked together in a stalemate.

 

“And just like every other bleeding heart _good person_ ,” Demyan sneered, “he’s going to die because he’s too kind and too giving with his affections. Just like that mother of yours.”

 

The combination of insults flared anger white hot through Victor’s veins and he drew his sword back to strike again. It met with steel once more.

 

“Don’t you dare speak of my mother! You poisoned her like you tried to poison me, didn’t you?”

 

Demyan’s smug look only grew more prideful. “Smart little brat, aren’t you?”

 

Victor put pressure on the blade, but there was no forcing through Demyan’s stance. He withdrew, and as if smoothly backstitching, he stepped back, easily avoiding his father’s renewed attack.

 

“Do you want to know why?” he taunted, and Victor knew it was but bait for a trap. If his father distracted him it would only make defending himself even more difficult

 

But Demyan wasn’t going to play fair.

 

“Actually you whoring yourself out to our enemy made it much easier for me to kill you. So thanks for that, you little slut!”

 

His blade hit hard, but his words hit harder; Victor’s temper rising at the insult. He swung, far too wildly, and barely had a chance to dodge the strike aimed at his stomach.

 

“In fact,” Demyan continued, easily maneuvering for another strike, “once you’re both dead, it will be downright _simple_ to explain that the Vermilion Rose killed you, and I killed him in your defense.”

 

The idea, the mere _idea_ , that his father was going to paint his murder as something Yuuri did, made him see red.

 

Red.

 

Vermilion red.

 

There was a calm within that anger and Victor found it in a pair of brown eyes imparting unspoken words across the distance between them; that mere glimpse of Yuuri’s red shirt enough that something inside Victor relaxed.

 

The blind fury that his father had been, and would probably continue to try and use against him, was no more.

 

Just those gentle and kind hands, timidly reaching over to correct Victor’s stitches as they sat side by side in his room; going over embroidery stitches and trying to ignore the love that had blossomed between them like the most beautiful rose.

 

_A needle is like a sword. You can’t use it properly if you don’t focus on what it is you need to do. Think ahead. Not just one or two stitches, but the whole segment. Know exactly how you are going to use every bit of thread on your needle before you use it. If you can see the bigger picture, you can create the image you want._

 

Victor shifted the grip on his sword, no longer brandishing like a club and slashing wild like his father did; no, now he shifted to his familiar fencing stance, his body easily falling right into position.

 

He needed to see the bigger picture in order to get the result he wanted.

 

Demyan laughed, harsh and condescending.

 

“This isn’t a sport, boy. I’m going to kill you.”

 

Victor still held position, waiting. He was beginning to see the picture, he knew how he was going to use the first thread he had.

 

“A lot nicer to kill me quickly, isn’t it?” he said casually. “You made my mother suffer for what? Almost a week?”

 

Demyan’s hold on his sword grew less tense, so small and slight that had he not been so focused Victor would have easily missed it. Demyan gripped it once more, but it wasn’t as tight as before.

 

“That bitch hung on, didn’t she?” he tried, making a strike.

 

Victor parried it easily.

 

“That’s why you started feeding her right? So you could try and poison her in both that and her wine. Why you even banished her attendant from seeing her!”

 

Once more, Demyan made to strike and Victor countered it. This time it was Demyan who’s anger rose.

 

“Oh don’t you bring _her_ up!”

 

Ah, and now it appeared his second thread was a golden one. Victor had, somehow, found a topic that made Demyan reckless with rage.

 

“You killed her too, didn’t you? What did she know that you didn’t want to get out?”

 

He matched his words with his bladework, intricate and weaving; a needle steadily making perfect stitches that each time drove Demyan back further.

 

“Of course I killed _her!_ ” he snarled.

 

Victor made a push on their locked blades, and he could feel it waver. Just a bit more. Just a few more threads and he could do this.

 

“Funny, you didn’t kill Queen Yulia’s attendant when you poisoned her.”

 

“I didn’t need to.”

 

The reply was terse, and the blade wavered once more.

 

“What did she know? Did she find out you were poisoning my mother?”

 

Something prideful and hateful and full of rage had flared to life in his father’s eyes. Something almost… possessive.

 

Just like Yuuri said, suddenly, the big picture unfurled before him in elegant embroidery in his mind, and Victor could see clearly now the path each thread had taken to create the final image; his hazy memories now embellished with all the details of the past he’d been too young to remember.

 

He knew now why his mother had been killed.

 

“Oh, so it wasn’t what she knew. It was _who_ she knew.”

 

The hold buckled and Demyan drew back, his breath heaving and his eyes wild.

 

“You couldn’t even stand my mother sending letters across to Ayutthaya, because how dare she pay attention to someone who wasn’t you.”

 

Demyan’s eyes went wider, their blue deadly and piercing.

 

“But that was just friendship,” Victor pressed on, slowly closing the distance between them. “Then she shut you out of her bed, didn’t she? Because she already had someone else that would _actually_ keep her warm.”

 

Demyan’s blade went slack and Victor went for the final thread.

 

“Like mother like son, huh?” he asked, his blade dancing in fast and sure. “While I fell for the Vermilion Rose, my mother fell in love with Lady _Roseli_ Giacometti.”

 

His strike landed hard and sure, and much like Demyan’s composure, Demyan’s blade shattered under the pressure and he stumbled back as it fell to the ground.

 

Victor leveled his blade at his throat, head held high and righteous and _regal_.

 

“Tell me, Demyan Urusov. Why did any of us have to die?”

 

There’s a curl to his lip as he replied, eyes full of hatred and vitriol.

 

“You think after that whore left me for her _maid_ I was going to let either of them live? Do you think I’d even consider keeping another bitch around longer than I needed to after that?!”

 

Two out of jealousy. One because he was scared it was going to happen again.

 

But that still left Victor.

 

“And what about me, Demyan? What was my crime?”

 

He tried to move, hands darting to his waist, but Victor moved quicker; pressing the blade into his throat until it drew blood.

 

“Tell me!” he ordered.

 

“Like you don’t know!” he snapped back. “You think I’m not going to realize what you’re up to when you start avoiding me, and I get word someone’s asking about that bitch’s will in Novgorod? Of course she would find a way to get me off the throne, and like hell I was going to let you live long enough to find out about it!”

 

Victor almost laughed, the reality of all these confessions weighing down upon his soul.

 

Yuuri’s words resounded inside his mind, over and over now, the truth only acceptable from his lips.

 

_The Larussian crown can only be held by someone of the Nikiforov bloodline. When you turned sixteen, Demyan was supposed to step down._

 

_Victor, you are the king of Larussia._

 

Two out of jealousy. One out of fear.

 

One because he was the rightful king of Larussia.

 

“You going to kill me, you coward?” Demyan asked mockingly.

 

Victor’s eyes flashed, and he almost let his blade finish the deed.

 

He held himself back.

 

“No. You don’t deserve to die quickly.”

 

And for one brief second, he could see the fear reflected in Demyan’s eyes.

 

“Captain, get him out of my sight. Leo, Guang Hong, help him.”

 

He tore his eyes away as they grabbed Demyan’s arms and pulled him to his feet; throwing his sword to the ground as he turned back towards Yuuri. Only the sight of him, still breathing steadily, could ease the weight on his heart right now.

 

Victor was just about to kneel beside him once more, when there were voices raised, and he turned just in time to see Demyan breaking free of their hold, a knife brandished in his hand.

 

He had no idea if it was him or Yuri or Yuuri that he man was coming for, but Victor stood firm in hopes he might at least protect the other two.

 

There was a flash of red in his vision, velvet and silk somehow still beautiful even soaked through in blood, as Yuuri moved between them; so quick he used Demyan’s momentum against him, grabbing his wrist and twisting his hold until the blade sunk into folds of orange and green, both colors soon overwritten in red.

 

And even though Yuuri was breathing heavily and his stance was shaky, his eyes were piercing and sure as he stared Demyan down.

 

“As long as I draw breath, you shall never lay another hand on him or anyone else.”

 

Demyan staggered back, clutching at the knife in shock, before he swayed as if drunk and fell to his knee; the three men easily overtaking him once more.

 

Victor’s arms were around Yuuri immediately, and he could feel him let his weight go slack against him, as if it had taken all his strength to do what he had.

 

Yuri stepped forward between them, his eyes not leaving the knife.

 

“You can let him go.”

 

For a moment, none of them understood, but soon Demyan staggered once more, this time gasping for breath.

 

Victor looked to his brother.

 

“There was poison on the blade,” he replied quietly. “He might last three days, at best, if it’s what I think it is.”

 

No one said a word, but the sentiment was clear amongst them, and Yuri instructed JJ alone to handle escorting him to the prison, knowing that he’d be too weak to fight back.

 

Victor turned to Yuuri, pressing a soft kiss into his hair. “Hey, let’s get you inside.”

 

He eased a little more into Victor’s hold.

 

“Sara should be here soon,” he mumbled. “They have the original decree. Phichit might have a second one.”

 

“Shh,” Victor murmured. “Let’s get you taken care of first.”

 

Yuuri let out a huff of a laugh. “A doctor’s coming. I already thought of that.”

 

Much like the answers had come to him earlier, now the elegant stitches of Yuuri’s own embroidery mapped out a plan in Victor’s mind that he could see was followed perfectly.

 

Phichit must have been with Christophe, trying to find the will.

 

Leo was with the guard, and he must have told JJ that Isabella was safe so he could help.

 

Guang Hong had taken the place of the princess and stepped into help at the signal of the gunshot.

 

Yuuri had made sure that of the three men aimed at him, only one would actually fire the shot.

 

Sara was coming with everyone from Apulia with one decree, the emperor soon with his men: all backup in case the shot was fatal.

 

All of it, every single thread, had a purpose. One to ensure Victor was safe, one for Isabella and the Apulian princess and honestly, probably Otabek and Potya too. The emperor and his men provided Sara and the Apulians an army in case they needed to fight their way onto the castle grounds, bringing one decree with them and having one already there in Phichit’s care. Together, along with the emperor, Sara and Phichit could have found a way to legally force Demyan to step down so Victor could take his rightful place as ruler.

 

Everyone had their part and every thread showed how much love Yuuri gave to everyone around him even at the risk of his own life.

 

Victor swept Yuuri up into his arms as gently as possible and started towards the front doors of the castle; and just as Yuuri had predicted, as the sun rose around them, everyone arrived right at the moment he expected them to.

 

Phichit was first, throwing open the doors with Christophe at his side, both of them grinning like schoolboys who’d just done something exceedingly mischievous, but their worried exclamations were cut short as the gates of the castle were lowered to the Apulian people, escorted by samurai and soldiers from Yamato.

 

All the lives Yuuri had touched, all the peoples he’d brought together, converged at that moment.

 

It was surrounded by that love, these lives, that Victor found his voice, and standing atop the front stairs to the castle with Yuuri still in his arms, he addressed the crowd for the first time as king.

 

He asked that the Yamato emperor and his men help him arrest and bring to trial any people who’d conspired with Demyan these past eleven years or who chose to still side with him, not trusting the loyalty of the Larussian soldiers to follow his lead.

 

He granted Apulia their country back to them, formally, and vowed that any and all hostile Larussians would be removed with his assistance from their lands.

 

He gave the lands of Rodiania back to his brother in honor of his mother and her lineage.

 

And most importantly, he bestowed the highest honor in Larussia upon the courageous men and women that made up the Vermilion Rose; talking of the bravery and loyalty and love that brought them all together.

 

Not a person there minded that his words were brief, understanding the urgency of getting the one man responsible for everything care in a timely fashion, and Victor gave them leave of the castle and its grounds to rest as long as they needed.

 

Finally, after what felt like hours but was surely not yet over thirty minutes, he carried his beloved up to his room with the promise of a doctor soon following to attend to him.

 

As Yuuri laid there, surrounded by rich silks and glowing with a happiness beyond measure, he finally caught hold of Victor’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

 

“What is it darling?” he asked, somehow understanding his intent.

 

Yuuri let out a light huff of a laugh, before stifling another cough. Victor smoothed his bangs back from his forehead and waited until he could speak.

 

“I need to apologize,” he began quietly, his hand reaching up now to settle lightly against Victor’s cheek.

 

“What for?”

 

He offered a bit of a smile with his wince.

 

“I’m afraid that your lovely embroidered handkerchief suffered a little more damage than a bent end,” he said softly, his other hand tugging it out.

 

Sure enough, the bullet hole had torn right through the center of the folded little square, and it was now stained with blood and very little white remained.

 

Victor laughed, soft at first, but growing in volume until he was clutching at his side; all of the last hours of his life raining down around him and leaving him with nothing but a clear sky and a smile as bright as sunshine.

 

“Yuuri,” he murmured, bringing his nose down to bump against his, “I’ll sew you a thousand more, if you want. All that matters is that you’re safe.”

 

In all the threads he’d stitched around him, that was the one Yuuri had neglected a bit; his own safety.

 

“It was your love that saved me,” Yuuri replied, echoes of Victor’s own words now reflected like home in his eyes. “And I believe in it to keep me with you.”

 

Somehow, even through his doubts and fears, Victor could see the future laid out ahead of them, waiting for all the brilliant threads that would bring the picture to life in the days ahead; and he chose his first thread, a beautiful vermilion red, and brought his lips down to capture Yuuri’s in a kiss.

 

It would be the beginning of something breathtaking and beautiful.

 

* * *

 

Victor had absolutely refused to leave Yuuri even for a moment. Even after the emperor’s physician assured him that with proper rest and care Yuuri’s injury would eventually heal, he argued that it was his personal duty to remain stalwartly at Yuuri’s side.

 

“None of us would be where we are now without your help, Yuuri. It would be remiss of me to not ensure the hero behind it all was happy and healthy.”

 

Somehow, Victor realized, that on some small selfish level, what Yuuri wanted most at the moment _was_ Victor; for the only thing that kept his mind from panicking over the fact he almost _died_ was having Victor there, warm and whole and _alive_.

 

Even now, the mere touch of him, made Yuuri’s chest ache pleasantly; the richness of his voice, the brilliance of his eyes, all blessings of relief, a balm upon frazzled nerves.

 

Victor might fret over how near Yuuri had come to death, but perhaps he didn’t understand how close he’d been to it as well.

 

The poisoned food Yuuri had intercepted in the night. The braggart guards who’d been plotting unspeakable horrors that Yuuri had rendered unable to take their posts. The fact that three out of five of the guards were so loyal to Demyan that even his cry of “halt!” might not have been enough to stop them. And that poison upon Demyan’s blade, so close to its deadly mark.

 

They had both danced far too close to death’s door, and only the company of one another could act as a cure.

 

Yuuri had finally fallen asleep out of sheer exhaustion, his head pillowed upon Victor’s chest and the sound of his heartbeat soothing him into peaceful slumber. He awoke hours later to voices quietly speaking, and the warmth of Makkachin now in Victor’s place.

 

Blearily, he brought the room into focus and found Victor seated opposite Christophe by the fireplace, both of them inspecting papers worn with folds and covered to every edge with flowing handwriting.

 

He’d not wanted to disturb them, but a cough rose from his throat and Victor was immediately at his side.

 

“Sorry,” Yuuri muttered once his breathing had steadied some. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

 

Victor shook his head. “You have nothing to apologize for, darling. Is there anything I can get you?”

 

Yuuri caught sight of Christophe, and it looked as if his eyes were as red as Victor’s; he knew then for certain that it was their mothers that they’d been discussing.

 

“Not right now, but thank you.”

 

Soft fingertips smoothed stray hairs out of Yuuri’s eyes, and Victor’s solemn look softened a little.

 

“There’s quite a handful of people who wish to speak with you, Yuuri. But there’s no rush. When I woke an hour or so ago, I decided it best to try and speak with all who I needed to, and well, I felt Christophe’s matter was the more urgent.”

 

Yuuri reached out a hand and settled it over Victor’s where it rested beside him on the bed. “Was I correct about him having your mother’s will?”

 

“You were. And it’s perhaps even more important than the original.”

 

Yuuri blinked. “How so?”

 

Christophe stood at that, picking up the plainest of the papers and bringing it over to him. Someone- probably Phichit- had already assured Yuuri’s glasses were within reach and Victor settled them a tad lopsidedly on Yuuri’s face. After adjusting them, he looked to the document before him and his eyes went wide.

 

 

> _I, Zhenya Nikiforova, Sovereign Queen of Larussia, declare this to be my Last Will and Testament, and revoke all previous laws and documents which this will shall contradict._
> 
> _I do hereby publish and proclaim that, even in absence of documentation due to malicious intent, the following shall henceforth be recognized by law upon all land of the Larussian Empire._
> 
> _The marriage of Demyan Urusov and Zhenya Nikiforova has, by His Holiness the Patriarch, been terminated and granted formal divorce in the eyes of the Church by grounds of malevolent abandonment of the spouse, profiting from the marriage, and encroachment on the life and health of the spouse._
> 
>   _In the eyes of themselves and God, may it henceforth be known that Zhenya Nikiforova has wed herself to Roseli Giacometti and bequeaths to her all that is allowed the spouse of Larussian royalty. If in the event the Church deigns to not recognize this marriage, then let this stand as a proclamation that in honor of her service and devotion, Roseli Giacometti shall be granted duchy of the former lands of Silesia and shall be granted the title of Duchess._
> 
>   _To my only son and heir, Victor Nikiforov, I leave the crown of Larussia, making him Sovereign ruler of all the Larussian Empire immediately upon my death, and any attempt to delay or deny him of his birthright by blood shall be considered traitorous to the kingdom._
> 
>  

The paper was adorned with the Great Seal of Queen Zhenya and signed in her distinctive looping script; an undeniable sign that this had come from her hand and no other. Victor was right, compared to the other proclamation that only spoke of the final point, this was indeed far more important; for even if these wishes had been denied for years, they could now do everything in their power to enact them now.

 

“I’m sorry you didn’t find this sooner,” Yuuri murmured, looking to the two men.

 

“What matters is that we have it now,” Victor replied, that glint of royalty even in his posture and poise. “No longer will history forget the woman my mother loved.”

 

“Mr. Katsuki,” it was Christophe now that spoke, holding down a hand within Yuuri’s reach. “You have my utmost gratitude for everything you’ve done. And not just because I suddenly find myself a Duke of Silesia.”

 

Yuuri took the hand and gave him a warm smile. “Thank you. I simply did what was right.”

 

Christophe nudged Victor’s shoulder at that. “Sir-- I mean, Victor. God that’s going to be hard to get used to.”

 

“You’re practically my brother, Chris.”

 

“I know.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“If you don’t mind, I could go see who’s still wanting to come in and check on our noble friend. We’ve got plenty of time to look over our mother’s things later.”

 

At Yuuri’s odd look, Victor held up one of the more decorated papers. “Love letters. And we think some of the items Chris has were gifts from my mother to his.”

 

Chris gave him a smile once more. “I’ll see about having some food sent up as well.”

 

Victor let out a huff. “Chris, I said no more waiting on me.”

 

He paused, then after a brief moment of hesitation reached out and gave Victor’s hair a playful ruffle. “Yeah, but I can still be a nice guy because you sure as hell aren’t leaving here until he’s up and about.”

 

The blush on Victor’s face was the only answer he needed before he’d made his way out the door, and the moment they were alone, Victor immediately went about shifting pillows and trying to help Yuuri sit up a little better.

 

By the time a knock sounded on the door, Yuuri was pretty sure every single pillow in the room had been propped behind him.

 

To his surprise, the first person in the door was Victor’s younger brother, Yuri and he made his way in without speaking a single word until he was at Yuuri’s beside.

 

“I told the kitchen what you should be eating to help,” he muttered.

 

“That’s his way of saying he’s worried about you,” Victor noted, earning him a punch in the arm.

 

“Shut up. You think after everything he did I’m _not_ going to worry?”

 

Yuuri just smiled up at him. “Thank you, again, for helping me when I got shot. The emperor’s physician said you probably saved my life by stabbing that hole into my other lung so I could breathe again.”

 

The boy crossed his arms and darted his eyes away. “Yeah, well. I kind of owed you. So.”

 

It fell into an odd silence, and after a moment, Yuri turned back towards the door, muttering under his breath.

 

“And… thanks again, for helping Otabek and Potya.”

 

He was out the door before the words could settle, and Victor let out a resigned sigh.

 

“I’m sorry, he’s…”

 

“A teenager,” Yuuri noted.

 

It earned a laugh from Victor and made Yuuri’s heart grow warm to hear it; after everything he’d been through, Victor deserved to laugh and smile.

 

The knocks to the door didn’t stop for long after that, groups of people coming in and out all insisting on offering Yuuri their gratitude in person; the Apulian royal family first, followed by Captain Leroy and Isabella both bearing ample trays of food that they said was for everyone. The meaning only became clear when soon, Mila and Sara came, along with Michele and Emil, and before they left, Leo, Guang Hong and Phichit finally came as well.

 

While Phichit sat next to Yuuri and melodramatically recounted his battle against all the castle guards that morning with Christophe’s help, everyone else stood around and chatted; the food much like would be provided to the highest ranked guests shared amongst them all. And it wasn’t until Christophe returned, teasing Victor about perhaps not knowing how to light his fireplace without help, that they even realized how late it had become.

 

Such a strange group, so many different people from so many different backgrounds, all brought together in the name of bravery and loyalty and love.

 

And every single one of them showering in Yuuri in compliments and praise that he thought he’d never be deserving of, for they were simply… too much.

 

He had never done any of this for fortune or fame.

 

Yuuri was just a simple tailor from Yamato who saw people suffering and wanted, in some small way, to help.

 

It was not until the sun had set, the group of friends each drifting off to guest rooms Victor insisted they use, that Yuuri felt like any of it really sank in; laying there in Victor’s arms as he clung as tight as either of their injuries would allow and finally, _truly_ , seeing the work he’d done in his mind as a finished piece.

 

Just like he often was with his sewing, Yuuri could never really tell how he felt about it until it was finished; often plagued with doubts and worries along the way that he had to fight back in order to make a deadline. Why sometimes it was not until hours after the final garment was delivered to a satisfied customer that he thought about his work and actually went _I did something amazing_.

 

But this, this was not just some beautiful art made of threads and skill; this was the fate of countries and princes and so many people that Yuuri had somehow touched and brought together. It was almost overwhelming in its immensity and the first thing Yuuri could do was laugh.

 

He didn’t laugh long, for a spate of coughing put a damper on it, but soon he was smiling like he’d never smiled before, Victor’s expression a mixture of worry with curiosity.

 

“What’s so funny?”

 

“Apulia’s free,” Yuuri muttered.

 

“Yes. Thanks to you.”

 

“And you and Chris and everyone…”

 

He turned at that, his smile overflowing.

 

“I really did all that, didn’t I?”

 

Blue eyes shining like sapphires in the night met Yuuri’s eyes and with a gentle smile, full of affection and pride, Victor kissed him; the two of them parting with love painted across every feature and a glorious warmth in their hearts.

 

“Yes. And I can’t wait to find out how you’ll surprise me next, my elusive Vermilion Rose.”

 


	18. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank every single person who's gone on this adventure these last few months with me for their support, comments, and kudos. I've been working on this story since March 5th of this year and it has come to mean something very special to me as it's grown into this wonderful adventure far beyond my wildest dreams. I was very blessed to have the most amazing and supportive artist in smolkristen and I cannot thank her enough for her work on two utterly gorgeous pieces to accompany this story. ﾟTHANK YOU ALL! ･✿ヾ╲(｡◕‿◕｡)╱✿･ﾟ

They called it the Rose Revolution, and within the span of a day, the history of Eastern Amorica was changed forever.

 

Now for JJ, this was by no means his first revolution; but it was perhaps the quickest and most efficient one in history, and to know on some small level you were a part of that? Well it took some time for the reality of sink in.

 

It was almost two months after that fateful day in October, and it was only now that he felt the immensity of the changes. Until familiar faces gathered in the dining hall for breakfast the morning of November twenty-ninth, it hadn’t really, truly, occurred to him the full impact of what they’d done.

 

Some things had changed quickly; the oranges and greens around the castle soon replaced by blue and gold, and JJ was definitely happier with the change of his uniform from one color to the other. But the people around them had changed too; many of the guards and servants implicated for collusion with the deposed king and now residents of the jail in Murgia instead. 

 

But while Victor’s household might have previously had countless servants and attendants for every menial task, those loyal few that remained were rewarded with better pay and decreased work hours.  Why Isabella now made quadruple what she had before!

 

As for JJ himself, he’d been promoted to Colonel and was now in charge of both the Royal Guard and Larussian Guard; the military and previous regiments disbanded and replaced with city-based guards who would be trained to handle crime, public safety and fires. Those that weren’t happy with the changes, and of course those disloyal to the new king, were easily replaced by skilled civilians relieved to see the focus shift from war and armed-control to something that would actually serve the people. 

 

For now though, while the new guard was trained, JJ had the assistance and skills from three others who’d found themselves suddenly promoted. There was Otabek, the young prince’s former attendant, now training directly under JJ so he could serve as Captain of the Royal Guard in Rodiania in the coming year, and Leo and Guang Hong who both served as the king’s personal guard when he had need to leave the castle and helped JJ in training the new recruits. 

 

Despite all their positions being something generally seen beneath the royalty they served, Victor had made any meal now a communal affair in which everyone working or living in the household would gather at once to eat; cooks and scullery maids and chamberlain all seated at the dining hall tables together with everyone else. 

 

This morning the hall was even more crowded than usual for there were visiting dignitaries present who had come early before the celebration that evening, and JJ found himself seated with Isabella near the young King of Rodiana and his two advisors.

 

Yuri, at his age, was not expected to rule Rodiana completely, and much to everyone’s relief, they actually managed to make contact with two former advisors of Queen Yulia’s household; Mr. Feltsman and Ms. Baranovskaya both extremely skilled in handling political affairs and willing to take the boy under their wing so they could teach him what he’d need to know when older.

 

Why the only big thing he’d personally done, upon realizing there was no such place already, was found the Royal School of Medicine in the capital city; and although newly built, it was already drawing in physicians of all sorts from around the world. 

 

To the other side was the Apulian royal family, who had done one last deed as ruling powers of their kingdom and appointed elected officials to now manage the country and its affairs instead.  Not a single person was surprised when Sara Crispino was was voted Premier of Apulia with Mila Babicheva as her second-in-command, the two ladies seated beside them along with Sara’s brother and friend.

 

Then at the other table was, as they had come to be known, the men of the Society of the Vermilion Rose; Leo and Guang Hong seated next to the Ayutthayan Prince and Foreign Ambassador, Phichit, and joined by the new Duke of Silesia, Christophe.

 

And of course, never far from Victor’s side, was Yuuri Katsuki.

 

Even before he knew the man behind that red mask, JJ had found himself in awe of the man’s talent; a fact that only grew stronger on now putting Eros of the Vermilion Rose and Yuuri the tailor together. He’d actually insisted on keeping a small shop in Sigrosk for his tailoring business and had taken on a handful of apprentices to help with the workload; for after word got out that he was the elusive leader of that band of men, the demand for his garments skyrocketed overnight.

 

The man was humble though, and despite being appointed Royal Tailor in addition to his other titles, was quick to downplay his skills whether as a tailor or a hero; using the ridiculous prices people were willing to pay for items personally made by him and him alone to do something just as heroic as someone might expect of the daring Eros.

 

Mask or no mask, it seemed that the man had a heart of gold, and not a man to horde his wealth, he’d been donating to guilds and sourcing a lot of his materials for fabrics and dyes from smaller business owners.   

 

King Victor was, and had been ever since that October morning, almost perpetually with Yuuri, through weeks of doting while he healed from injury to traveling anywhere he went; the two of them becoming widely beloved in the days since then. 

 

Sure, it hadn’t been all easy. 

 

JJ remembered those first few weeks when relying on the emperor’s guard from Yamato they had arrested countless men and women who’d helped Demyan get away with what he had; from the highest ranked advisors of the royal household down to servants who’d slipped poison into wine on the man’s bribed request. But Victor was lenient with charges, and the only man who was sentenced to anything worse than jail was Demyan himself; the former king already having given himself the death sentence by poisoning himself.

 

He lasted about a week, and Victor had, with that seriousness that had become more and more uncommon since then, said that the Lord must have wanted him to suffer the same as he’d made the former queens. 

 

Like his mother before him, Victor had already shown such kindness to the people that there were very few that were unhappy with him claiming his rightful place as king; the lands of former countries offered their regions back but most of them content to live under the son of Queen Zhenya knowing he’d be just as good a ruler as she was.

 

And much like he’d given Silesia to Christophe, he appointed Dukes and Duchesses for the other lands from amongst the best of their peoples. 

 

Sure, most of them were under new titles and many were just learning what that title entailed, but with the help of the Apulian King and one of the emperor’s advisors, they were already learning what it took to rule and rule fairly.

 

“Colonel, how’s your lasso lessons going?” Sara called from down the table.

 

JJ grinned. “Good! I need to work on my speed, but my aim’s vastly improved.”

 

Leo laughed from where he was seated. “Yeah, I think right now most things will outrun you. But you’re catching on!”

 

“I wonder if I should learn how,” Victor cut in, Yuuri trying to hold back a laugh but failing.

 

“Victor, what would you need to know how to lasso for?” he asked.

 

The king shrugged. “True, I’ve already caught the most elusive prize.”

 

It earned him a laugh from the majority of the table, even as Yuuri gave Victor a nudge and turned to bury his face against his shoulder; and as the discussion shifted to the foreign skills that were now being taught to the Larussian guard, JJ found himself unable to keep a smile from his face.

 

Who would have believed a few months ago that he and Isabella would be seated with kings and dukes and duchesses laughing over breakfast.

 

And although the history of the world was changed, it was the little things like this that really made JJ realize how good that change had been.

 

* * *

 

“I take back everything mean I’ve ever said about the women who wear this sort of thing,” Sara muttered under her breath.

 

Mila paused and caught Sara’s eyes in the mirror. “Why’s that?”

 

“Because I feel like I have a large bag of flour strapped to each hip and I’m dragging the full salt bin behind me.”

 

She laughed, light and airy, and reached out to slide her fingers down the bodice; the whale boning making Sara’s waist smaller than normal and giving her a pronounced set of curves.

 

“That bad, huh?”

 

Sara relaxed into Mila’s touch, the slide of her hands down the slope of her side making her breath catch in her throat; a feeling that was almost sharper and more noticeable given how the tight bodice was affecting her breathing already.

 

“I always thought those ladies with their hands so soft you know they haven’t done a day’s work were weak,” Sara murmured, “but now I wonder if perhaps it’s just that they’ve had to become strong in a different way.” 

 

Had it not been Mila, she would have never admitted it aloud, and it’s only the softness of her lips pressing to the back of her neck that made her even consider continuing.

 

“They’re like a cake, I guess.”

 

“A cake?” Mila queried.

 

“Like a wedding cake. If the layers aren’t strong enough, all that soft and light and beautiful decoration would just cave in on itself. Women who cram themselves into these bodices and strap these wide hoops on their sides have to be strong.”

 

She could feel Mila’s smile as she moved up her hairline until she reached her ear, her voice a low purr when she spoke. “Guess they knew you were quite skilled at being strong, even when looking gorgeous, or they wouldn’t have given you such a gift.”

 

Her giggle was girlish and breathy, and she would have never expected anyone to coax such a sound from her, but Mila kept finding new ways to bring out this side of Sara that no one else had seen; a woman easily made weak kneed and faint of heart at but one word or touch.

 

“If you keep up this flattery we’re both going to have to figure out how to get this off of me and back on in under thirty minutes, and I don’t think that’s even possible.”

 

Mila pecked a kiss under her ear and pulled back, smiling at her reflection in the mirror.

 

“We’ll save that for later when we don’t have to worry about getting it back on then.”

 

So much had changed in those days that had gone past, her whole life suddenly thrust into a role she’d never imagined for herself, let alone with such a great companion at her side; but with the people’s support, Sara knew she’d find a way to be the premier her people deserved, leaving only her personal life to worry at her.

 

Originally they’d asked her to move to Velia, the king offering up part of the former castle as residence for her and Mila to use. Yet without a moment’s hesitation, Sara had looked him in the eye and said she would only accept the position if she got to choose where she lived.

 

And that choice was Florentina.

 

What was once a simple home with ample space around it where she’d dreamed of building an equally simple bakery, there was now a stately country home of sturdy stonework with a tiled roof, something the likes of the elegant aristocratic homes of Santa Lucia or Sipious, with a bakery twice as big as her father’s and additional space for Mila’s brewery so it no longer had to take up so much of her lower floors. 

 

Compared to most rulers, she supposed it was simple, but she insisted it have no more bedrooms than she could think of use for when guests visited; a matter which was made somewhat easier by the fact that the majority would not find the idea of sharing a room a problem at all.

 

To her surprise, the choice had turned the quiet and sleepy village of Florentina into a burgeoning town; businesses popping up in the open land near the river and even a guild hall being built that would save all of those guild members in the south the long trip up to Castra Martis.

 

Sometimes it felt like they couldn’t find a moment to themselves, both of them determined to balance their new role with their own work, and there were many days they’d fall into bed still dressed and uncaring because they were simply exhausted.

 

It was nice, in a way, to know that Victor had granted them use of one of the new guest rooms for as long as they wished to stay; the upper levels of the main castle converted from the former king’s quarters into multiple guest bedrooms. 

 

They had been given the one fittingly called the Queen’s guestroom, a newly commissioned painting of Queen Zhenya and Lady Roseli hung above the mantel, and the furniture and decor a lovely blend of blues and greens made up of previous pieces owned by one of the two women.

 

Perhaps it was that her eyes had paused too long on the painting, or perhaps Mila just knew her so well by now that she understood, but she pulled her closer and rested her head over her shoulder.

 

“Women like that were just as strong as we are, even if they weren’t tearing down bridges or kicking military commanders to the ground, because we’re all made up of the same ingredients deep down; each of us just chose to use them differently.”

 

“Well, let’s hope the former queens are looking after me tonight so I don’t make a fool of myself in this dress.”

 

She didn’t even get a chance to see the resigned turn of her lips at her worries finally surfacing in her reflection before Mila’s hands settled over her eyes; her voice soft and gentle beside her ear.

 

“I know this is all new and kind of intimidating, and you’re much more comfortable using your words than your looks to achieve your goal, but I want you to forget the bigger picture because that’s all you can see right now and it’s holding you back.”

 

Sara took a deep breath, and she could feel more than just the dress weighing her down.

 

“The Tribal Council of Arawak gave you this dress fit for a queen because you earned it with your kindness towards them and your establishing of trade routes that will completely change their country. But you know what you should really see it as? A giant middle finger to those royals in Western Amorica who got their oppressive colonizing asses kicked out of Arawak.”

 

She snorted a laugh at that.

 

“I’m serious. Your necklace from the Kemetic Kingdom, all these fancy things in your hair from Sindhu? You and Victor have opened up Amorica to trade with these places that the rest of Amorica just wants to control. They aren’t expecting you to be some normal Amorican royal, they’re trusting you because you aren’t.”

 

As Mila drew her hands away, Sara blinked a few moments to bring everything back into focus; finally allowing herself to look at her reflection without a thousand expectations cluttering the view.

 

The whole dress shimmered as she moved, the rich green silk velvet adorned with thousands of sequins, metallic foils, and polished glass stones that sparkled like gemstones; the narrow bodice opening to a gorgeous skirt decorated with roses, beaded tassels along the bottom hem, and an elegant train that she’d made a little more reasonable by looping the end around her wrist. The white lace of her sleeve tickled her arm as she reached up and touched one of the little ringlets that framed her face; her hair elaborately piled atop her head in curls that cascaded down, the stark white of the small pearls that draped across it standing out just as much as the little rubies did. And last, around her neck and setting off the lower neckline of the dress beautifully was the necklace made of gold from the Kemetic Kingdom and beautiful ornate Apulian glass beads. 

 

With Mila’s words reverberating in her heart, it was no longer just a dress that felt far beyond her station and worth; no, it had been remade into armor forged of the strong alliances she’d made, shining with the hopes and dreams of the people who trusted her.

 

“Better?” Mila asked quietly.

 

“I only wish you had something just as nice.”

 

She laughed at that. “Silk brocade not good enough?”

 

The soft red dress with silver roses in the design had been chosen by Yuuri because the red exactly matched Mila’s hair. The stomacher and petticoat was in mauve pink with elaborate ruching on the center of the skirt to make a large spiral of a rose and its petals; decorated with two shades of pink lace around the edges and small little rosettes made of ribbons across the bodice that were echoed by similar larger roses nested in the curls of Mila’s short hair.

 

“I take that back, Yuuri was right. That color is absolutely perfect on you.”

 

"Thank you. You look lovely as well."

 

The two of them fussed a bit more on their appearances, got a tad distracted kissing and had to reapply makeup, before they decided they were as ready as they were going to be, both of them laughing as their skirts barely fit down the narrow staircase to the grand hall below; and upon their reaching it, the attendant in charge of introducing everyone as they entered gave them a bow before calling out to those gathered already.

 

“Her Excellency Premier Sara Crispino and her companion, Duchess Mila Babicheva.”

 

Mila held out a hand and Sara took it, looping it through her own; their wide skirts swaying together as they set foot into the ballroom.

 

* * *

The moment the tall pointed hats of the Ayutthayan party appeared in the entryway, Phichit ran.

 

It was probably improper, and his father would surely scold him for his behavior, but all he cared was that his mother was amongst their party; for Victor had asked every homeland of one of the Vermilion Rose to please ensure that the family of that person be able to attend, and so whether the current Queen had issues with his mother or not, she was invited.

 

To his relief, it appeared his father had decided to avoid issues amongst his wives and only his mother was in attendance; something that made Phichit’s heart fill with even more warmth. It wasn’t that his father was cold, but with so many wives and children to attend to, you had to do something special to garner special treatment; and even though he was the sixteenth son, apparently his noteworthy deeds were enough for him to bring his mother and a few of his favorite older siblings.

 

But oh how beautiful his mother was! He was grinning wide as he caught her eye, her elegant sinh skirt made of silk, woven in ornate motifs with delicate embroidery and sabai shawl all of brilliant golds; red rubies shimmered from her crown and jewelry, her bangles jingling with the same sound Phichit always remembered.

 

Phichit’s own chong kraben, loose breeches made of wraparound cloth and a longer mandarin collared coat, all shone in a yellow gold as well, only his khrui robe in white with golden trim with a brilliant red rose pinned over his heart. Now he knew why it had been the color his father had sent for him when he’d requested that he be sent something formal for the celebration. 

 

Even just being in the clothing again had made him feel like he was home, but that still didn’t compare to the feeling he got when he finally reached his mother and she pulled him close into her arms.

 

“My brave son,” she murmured quietly in their native tongue. “How glad I am to see you on this most honorable occasion.”

 

Phichit laughed, that sunshine color of his clothes now permeating his emotions, and gave her a smile.

 

“If I’d known all I had to do was constantly risk my life to get you to come visit, I would have done it sooner.”

 

She tapped him on the nose, a light laugh in her tone. “Ever the comedian of the family, my son.”

 

His siblings then descended to tease him about his height and scold him for  _ not _ getting mortally wounded like his friends had, and they only parted when his father moved towards them, all three of them stepping back to allow him to walk forward to Phichit.

 

He extended a hand, and surprised, Phichit took it; earning himself a rare smile meant only for him.

 

“I’ve heard great things about your adventure, my son,” he stated, meeting Phichit’s eyes. “Fighting with your native sword even, you really found quite the way to show the world how talented and wonderful our people are and I thank you.”

 

“Father…”

 

“It is my hope with your new title you shall find more ways to make our country proud, perhaps without such danger so your mother won’t worry so.”

 

Phichit grinned before bowing his head. “I’ll try to keep the danger to a minimum, but I’m not making any promises.”

 

His father clapped a hand to his shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze. It wasn’t his mother’s embrace, but from his father it meant so much.

 

Phichit allowed his family to be properly introduced to the room, all of them making their way over to Victor who, of course, had Yuuri right by his side; both of them smiling at Phichit as if knowing how happy this had made him. And once the royal formalities were out of the way, Phichit made his own introductions, expounding upon Yuuri’s talents in heroics in addition to sewing and to Victor’s courage when his people needed him most.

 

By the time he was done, the only thing that kept poor flustered Yuuri from interjecting something humble was that Lady Sirkit had stepped forward to take Victor’s hand into her own.

 

“Queen Zhenya’s child, oh how you have grown. She’d be overflowing with pride at seeing you now.”

 

Victor’s eyes shone at her words, and he clutched her hand tighter. “Thank you. You have no idea how grateful I am that you were able to help us find a way to honor her final wishes.”

 

Lady Sirkit’s smile was wistful. “I’m glad I was able to help my dear friend, even now. I hear my son’s set his eyes on Lady Giacometti’s son, so my tam boon has already been repaid.”

 

“Mom…” Phichit interjected, his own cheeks feeling flushed all of a sudden. He quickly changed the subject. “Ah, tam boon- she’s saying that the good karma of helping you has come back to help us.”

 

Victor was kind enough to let the subject shift. “I”m very glad to hear that then, Lady Sirkit.”

 

They made a bit more small talk, Victor wise enough to bring up a little political matter to keep Phichit’s father from feeling left out, before politely asking Lady Sirkit if she had any spare time to share any memories of his mother she had with him. 

 

By the time they stepped aside to allow the next group to approach the king, Phichit’s heart felt so full he thought it might burst.

 

It figured, of course, that was the moment Christophe spotted him once more and made his way over to the group; Phichit making introductions all around and sending death glares at his older sister when she rather blatantly suggested they leave the lovebirds alone for a bit.

 

Christophe, thankfully, was kind enough not to voice his one thought until his family was safely out of earshot.

 

“I’m kind of disappointed you didn’t go for the shirtless look your brother’s sporting,” Christophe said with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

 

Phichit punched him lightly in the arm. “Oh hush. If I did that you’d be too distracted all evening and dance all over my toes.”

 

Christophe smirked. “As if you aren’t distracting enough already.”

 

He preened, fluttering his eyelashes pointedly in his direction. “I can’t help it. I was born this beautiful.”

 

“Gold’s a good color on you, but…” and Christophe lowered his lips until they brushed against Phichit’s ear. “I think it might look better on the bedroom floor.”

 

“Oh I can’t wait to watch you struggle with figuring out how chong kraben work,” he shot back.

 

Christophe blinked. “What’s a chong kraben?”

 

He gave a wink. “You’ll find out later.”

 

It earned him a curl of Christophe’s lips, and deciding he really did enjoy having his family back around for some things, Phichit grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him down into a kiss; his fingertips brushing over the embroidered gold and cream florals he’d sewn that adorned the front of Christophe’s green silk taffeta suit.

 

Christophe pulled back with a grin, eyebrows raised in askance. “Not that I’m complaining, but what was the occasion?”

 

Phichit grinned back. 

 

“My sister bet me quite a bit of Ayutthayan money that I wouldn’t do it in front of my dad.”

 

He laughed, wrapping his arm around Phichit’s waist before giving a casual wave in the direction of the Ayutthayan guests; green eyes bright as emeralds as they turned back to Phichit.

 

“Do you get extra if you do it again?”

 

Phichit quirked an eyebrow, that same mischief twinkling in his eyes.

 

“Wanna find out?”

 

* * *

 

To be perfectly honest, Leo was extremely nervous.

 

He appreciated the thought and sentiment behind inviting family members, even if they weren’t of noble status, but the fact was that compared to Phichit’s  _ royal _ family and Guang Hong’s noble scholar father and mother whose poetry was beloved even by the empress, he felt his family might feel woefully out of place.

 

Yuuri’s family, at least, was part of the upper merchant class of Yamato. Leo’s family was… a bunch of cattle ranchers with mixed heritage; factors that were generally looked down upon by those of higher class. The Tribal Council would treat them wonderfully, of that Leo had no doubt, but the royalty from other countries he worried might not do the same.

 

Even if his outfit was typical of Hispana and the rest of Amorica, the knee length coat with wide cuffs, a long waistcoat and breeches with stockings and black buckled shoes, it was the mix of two clashing patterns, bold magenta and gold silks with large floral motifs, that made him stand out as someone adhering to the Mexica sense of style. 

 

He nervously rubbed at the large rose print that took up most of the width of the cuff and only noticed he was doing so when Guang Hong reached over to place a worried hand on his arm.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

Leo forced a smile, Guang Hong’s expression making it obvious he wasn’t buying it, before giving up and letting out a heavy sigh.

 

“Sorry. I just feel like my family’s going to… stand out.”

 

“My mom’s wearing a fancy headdress with a bunch of roses on it that makes Mila’s hair adornments look plain,” Guang Hong countered. “I think we’re all just nervous because well… outside of Victor who already loves the Katsukis, we’re all just now introducing our families to each other.”

 

“Well I think your mother and father are wonderful,” Leo replied. “The only embarrassing thing they’ve done so far is tell me you used to write poetry.”

 

Guang Hong’s cheeks went pink, matching the roses that adorned his jifu robe.

 

It was stunning on him, honestly, the pastel colors really complementing Guang Hong’s soft features; the polychrome silk and gold metallic threads on a light jade green silk ground with an ornate design of waves and mountain across the lower edge, the cuff trim of it detailed with bats, scepters, swords, lanterns, fish, and of course, roses.

 

Leo turned and looped his arms around Guang Hong’s neck, his fingertips brushing against the pattern on the black trim.

 

“Not that I’m suggesting you write me any or anything,” he murmured, his own face feeling warm all of a sudden.

 

Guang Hong poked him in the ribs. “If you keep bringing it up, I won’t.”

 

“I meant to ask, what’s with the bats?”

 

The other symbols, he could reason, but the bats were, at least to him, messengers of death and the underworld, which really didn’t fit the rest of the image.

 

He shifted a little into Leo’s touch. “The word for bat sounds the same as the one for good fortune- fu. Five bats together represent the Five Blessings, or wufu: long life, wealth, health, love of virtue, and a peaceful death.”

 

“Ah glad to hear the death is at least peaceful.”

 

Guang Hong laughed at that and looked as if he was about to say something more when his eyes went a bit wider as he glanced over Leo’s shoulder.

 

“Leo, the group from Arawak just arrived.”

 

He could hear the familiar sounds of beadwork and shells and small little bells jangling as they walked, and by the time he’d turned, all his worries were worlds away; for if seeing familiar peoples at the emperor’s ball had made his heart swell with homesickness, knowing this time his family was amongst them only made it moreso.

 

Unlike Amorican groups where fashion was almost homogenized to the point it would be difficult from a distance to discern their homeland, the peoples of Arawak all wore the styles of their regions proudly and distinctly; Leo able to tell those from the rainforests from those of the plains, and of course, there were those of mestizo heritage like himself that blended the style of HIspana with those of native Arawak heritage.

 

Leo’s family then, was easy to find, for they were just as blended; his father attired much like he was in Hispana cut clothing with Mexica bold patterns and his mother in a dress cut a bit Amorican, but looser and with a fabric that was distinctly of a woven print associated with the tribes around their ranch and with feathers in her hair. Along with them was his abuela who had blended elements of Amorican dress, such as a lavish lace collar and sleeves, with traditional tornasol fabric woven with dark fiber from alpaca and brighter contrasting weft from silk and as she moved it shimmered with a two-tone effect, catching the eye of everyone in the room immediately. 

 

He was smiling wide before he knew it, and he found he couldn’t even be somewhat embarrassed by the fact his sister had come wearing her usual fringed shirt and pants made of cattle hide; decorative only by the yellow ochre pigment making the shirt almost yellow gold and the glass beadwork and brass and silver buttons. 

 

They quickly closed the distance between them, all of them talking in a mish-mash of languages that probably wouldn’t make much sense to anyone but them. Then again, they were switching from Amorican to Hispanish and Quechua all in the course of one sentence because their excitement and joy could not be contained in one language.

 

By the time he’d introduced them to Guang Hong, then Phichit and Yuuri and Victor, he’d completely forgotten he was worried at all; the warmth of family such that it burned all his troubles away in a moment.

 

Much like the emperor’s ball, the room was now filled with brilliant colors and skintones that traditionally not been invited to Amorican balls; a fact that Victor now called to everyone’s attention as he began his speech, elaborating on how it was the help of non-Amoricans that allowed Larussia and Apulia to reach the peace they now had. Leo could see how he looked to the few Western Amorican royals that had actually shown up as he spoke, his voice carrying his message loud and clear; Eastern Amorica had been saved by the kindness of foreigners and it was his intent to extend that kindness now to the nations that had often been left out of Amorican political matters.

 

Even the entertainment for the evening was to be a reflection of that, as he had asked each nation attending to be prepared to present a dance that was beloved in their country; the Adelasians all performing elegant dances that told stories, the Western Amoricans showing off gavottes and ecossaises with finesse, before they moved into the steady drum beats behind the dances of Uluru and Moai and the Kemetic Kingdom.

 

Soon it was Arawak’s turn, and Leo felt his heart grow warm as those from the northern tribes around the rainforests performed a sultry lundu followed by the southern tribes fancy dance with once more the rhythmic beating of a drum echoing throughout the grand hall.

 

But it was during this performance that Leo’s abuela had taken his hand and started talking to him quietly in her native tongue; the folds of her elegant mantle giving way to show the charango she carried bundled on her back.

 

“It might not be a dance, but it is music. And your grandfather knew how much you loved playing it back home.”

 

It was a small stringed instrument, similar to a lute but with the body of it sculpted to look like the shell of an armadillo. Leo had spent so many nights when they were out beneath the stars picking over the strings and listening to the high-pitched sound the instrument made.

 

He looked at his grandmother, seeing that twinkle of mischief in her eyes and knowing now that the same spark of adventure resided deep inside him too; the blood of the gaucho who roamed the Andean plains in his blood because of them.

 

Leo took the charango from her and gave her a soft smile, knowing exactly what she had in mind in bringing it to him now. 

 

“Let me guess, you already told the council I’d perform, didn’t you?”

 

She laughed, patting him on the arm. “Of course, my boy. It’s no scarier than everything else you’ve done this past year.”

 

His abuela had a point, and he could always remember his grandfather telling him the story of how he’d used this very charango to earn his grandmother’s favor after she beat him at a rodeo; for a charango player was not the type to serenade in secret, but someone who would sing out his heart before all bravely.

 

The applause around him was loud, but his heartbeat was even louder in his ears. He knew what he wanted to do.

 

“Thank you, Abuela,” he replied, giving her a kiss on the cheek. 

 

She gave him a warm smile, nudging him forward as the dancers cleared the floor.

 

He hesitated only one moment, taking a deep breath before resolutely making his decision. He was a gaucho like his mother’s family! A vaquero who lived his life on the range like his father’s family!

 

There was so much bravery in his blood, and he’d never known how to find it until one astoundingly beautiful man had taught him how.

 

As he stepped forward into the open center of the ballroom, he saw a few members of the tribal council each with an instrument of their own come to join him; a siku panpipe and a quena flute; and a few couples from Arawak took to the floor around them.

 

It figured his grandmother would somehow talk the entire Tribal Council into this.

 

Leo licked his lips and looked up across the ballroom, his eyes finding Guang Hong’s with ease and holding his gaze.

 

“This is a song in Quechua, from the peoples around the Andes mountains that I’m descended from. And the title, in Amorican, would be something like… ‘My sweetheart.’”

 

Guang Hong’s eyes went wide, his hand drifting up to clutch over his heart, and Leo smiled.

 

If there was one place, in all the world, where Leo always felt brave; it was wrapped in the melody of a song.  Fingers nimble and precise, he strummed the melody with flute and pipe following it with ease; and even when the words began, they flowed off his lips like honey, sweet and golden. 

 

In music, language was never a barrier, and he could tell as he sang through the words that somehow Guang Hong understood every single one; a song directly from one heart to another in something beyond mere words.

 

_ I looked for you day and night and I found you, my darling, my sweetheart. _

 

He’d barely struck the last chord when suddenly those long sleeves covered in roses and bats blurred in his vision, the arms settling around his neck as Guang Hong buried his face under his chin, his voice thick with emotion as he breathed out.

 

“I love you too, Leo.”

 

Even after that night in Santa Lucia when Guang Hong had said those very words to him, Leo had been unable to find a way to say them himself, but somehow, with his family’s help, he’d finally found a way to convey it, the words now easily coming to his lips as he held Guang Hong tight.

 

“And I love you. I have… for a very long time.”

 

Suddenly Guang Hong was kissing him fervently, and Leo forgot for a moment anyone else was even there until Phichit yelled at them to get a room.

 

They pulled apart with cheeks stained pink and warm smiles spilling off their lips; both of them giggling a bit before reluctantly entangling themselves long enough to move to the side of the ballroom.

 

He’d barely made it over there, his arm at some point drifting around Guang Hong, before he felt a hearty slap to his back and turned to find his sister grinning at him.

 

“Aww, the little wolf cub is all grown up now!”

 

But even her teasing couldn’t permeate the warmth in his heart, and he simply smiled and shrugged; wrapping his arm tighter around Guang Hong.

 

“I had to. After all, I run with wolves now.”

 

* * *

 

It had all started with just one man.

 

A man who was determined to twist fate off its deadly course, even if he must do so with his own bare hands.

 

It wasn’t easy. Yuuri was certain many of the guests listening to Victor’s speech had no idea, could not remotely fathom, how difficult taking that first step had been.

 

Yuuri was just a dime-a-dozen tailor from Yamato that knew how to wield a sword. That wasn’t much against a military man like Demyan Urusov.

 

If they’d used an army, there was a good chance they would have lost everything.

 

This was a revolution that needed precision and elaborate planning that rivaled the intricacies of a tailor’s finest embroidery work, the skilled hands of a brewer and bakers, the unlikely bravery of a gardener and silkworm farmer, and the heart and wisdom of princes. 

 

They could not have reached their goal with power and steel and bullets alone but had to use their wits to outsmart what they couldn’t out-fight. And with kindness and compassion as their shield, they earned unlikely allies along the way.

 

It was a story for the history books. A story of how reckless daring and bold courage were born of the bravest hearts. 

 

But what those around them didn’t know, was their honored leader had one last adventure waiting for them all; for ever since Victor explained his plans to celebrate the Vermilion Rose and Yuuri upon his birthday, a second secret plan had begun behind the scenes.

 

And, with the touch of Sara’s hand upon his arm, Yuuri embarked on what was to be his most important mission yet.

 

“I hate to take you away from the festivities,” Sara said softly. “But I’ve snapped something in my bodice.”

 

Yuuri put on a frown. “That could be a couple of things. Victor, do you mind?”

 

Victor gave a smile. “Don’t be too long?”

 

He pecked a quick kiss to Victor’s cheek. “I won’t.”

 

Then, just as planned, Sara led him upstairs to her guestroom.

 

“I’ll go signal Isabella. Then I’ll meet you in the hallway,” Sara murmured.

 

Yuuri nodded. “Thank you.”

 

And as the door to the room swung closed behind him, Yuuri turned into the Queen’s guestroom with his heart hammering in his chest. If he was going to do this, then he was damn well going to do it right!

 

Stepping in front of the mantle, he let his eyes flicker up to the painting above it; blue and green eyes glimmering in the lantern light down at him.

 

Yuuri reached over to a small snuff box on the vanity, one of Zhenya’s many gifts to Roseli that they’d found, and he took a steadying breath before opening it; the glint of the ring inside causing his nerves to resurface with a vengeance.

 

It was going to take every drop of bravery in his blood to do this, he knew that already. But it wasn’t until now, standing before the Queens’ portrait with the ring clutched in his hand that it truly hit him.

 

He was going to ask Victor to marry him. Anxiety and fears and worries be damned!

 

Yuuri shakily took another breath before beginning to speak.

 

“Queen Zhenya, Queen Roseli- I want to ask your permission to marry Victor. I know I’m not of royal blood, or Amorican, or anything like what you probably expected for him. But I hope I’m still good enough for him.”

 

He tightened his fist, his knuckles going white.

 

“Victor is… incredibly special. Kind and brave and sweet just like you would have wanted him to be. He’s going to be the greatest king for his people. And… I’d like to be the one lucky enough to stay beside him.”

 

Yuuri opened his hand and looked at the ring. It was made just like the one in the painting, the two gemstones cut each as one half of a heart, joined together in the middle underneath a crown of diamonds; but while Roseli’s half was an elegant emerald that matched her eyes, Yuuri had chosen something else to compliment the Nikiforov sapphire blue on this ring.

 

A ruby. Red as a rose.

 

That little flash of red, small as it was, sparked that fire burning in Yuuri’s heart alive; a subtle reminder that he too was the daring Eros that had stolen Victor’s heart.

 

“Queen Zhenya, Queen Roseli, I humbly ask now for your blessing. Please, let me make him as happy as he makes me every day for the rest of our lives.”

 

He bowed his head forward and swallowed down his fears.

 

There was an odd flicker and somehow, the lantern seemed to shine a little brighter all of the sudden; the gemstones on the ring glowing with it.

 

Yuuri let out a nervous laugh and looked up to the painting once more.

 

“Thank you. I’ll take good care of him. I promise.”

 

And not wanting the rush of courage that had taken up residence in his chest to go to waste, he quickly left the room to find Sara; for their plans had only just begun.

 

Just like every other mission, the Vermilion Rose were deft at operating undetected and swift;  easily dancing right under royalty’s watching eyes without giving anything away.

 

No one noticed Guang Hong and Leo slip out after Yuuri returned with Sara, and while Yuuri stood arm in arm with Victor as Mickey and Emil and the other Apulian attendees presented their country’s dances, Phichit and Christophe snuck out as well; all four of them back before the dances were finished.

 

Then it fell to young King Yuri, who had convinced the orchestra to take a short break before the waltzes began; and Yuuri only had to wait a few minutes before Colonel Leroy approached and gave them a courteous bow.

 

“Your Highness, I didn’t want to interrupt the festivities, but since we are at a pause I would like to inform you that the Emperor of Yamato wanted to speak with you in absolute private.”

 

Victor gave Yuuri’s arm a pat. “I don’t want to leave you.”

 

Yuuri politely shook his head. “Go ahead, Victor. He’s probably come up with something for my birthday and wants your help.”

 

That seemed to win Victor over and so he excused himself; Yuuri waiting until he could see him talking with Emperor Minami before moving himself, his family wishing him luck as they took his place where Victor had left him.

 

Even as he quietly and stealthily made his way across the ballroom, he could see the other players at work; Isabella and Mila bringing the orchestra members drinks to stall them a little longer, Leo and Guang Hong not far from Victor and signalling to the Emperor to keep talking, and by the door were the four others.

 

Phichit gave Yuuri a tight hug once he reached them, sliding his hand quickly into Yuuri’s pocket and depositing the matching ring to the one already resting there..

 

“Sara and I will keep the guests entertained while Victor’s gone. Don’t you worry.”

 

Sara smiled at him over Phichit’s shoulder. “And King Yuri here said he’ll keep anyone else from leaving after Victor.”

 

Yuuri smiled, his heart suddenly so full with affection for his trustworthy friends.

 

“Thank you. Let’s hope I don’t freak out at the last minute.”

 

Yuri snorted at that, rolling his eyes. “You let my brother stitch up your wound when you were half-dead just because you love him so much. I think you can handle proposing.”

 

He laughed at that, giving the boy a sheepish grin. “Okay, okay. Fair point.”

 

JJ gave a glance towards the door. “Just checked, everything’s in place.”

 

Yuuri nodded, took a deep breath, and silently slipped out the door before anyone could notice.

 

Everything was, indeed, in place. The fountain in the center of the castle grounds was now its own little alcove, surrounded on three sides by large trellises decorated in red roses they’d imported from the southern hemisphere and lit by a collection of lanterns on all sides. Yuuri took a seat on the edge of the fountain and tried to calm his racing heart.

 

As always, he turned to the elaborate embroidery decorating his sherwani; the long coat with a mandarin collar a gift from the new rulers of Sindhu, and at Victor’s request decorated in gold roses with red accents, the blue silk the color of the night sky. It matched Victor’s in deep purple, the gold of it in oak leaves of his family heritage but with two columns of roses down the front, both of them with silk breeches that matched their coats.

 

It was there, fingertips dancing across intricate goldwork, that suddenly his whole strange year unfurled before him in his mind; the baker’s revolt, his decision to help, and everything that had happened since. The whole course of events was overwhelming, but instead of the expected tightening of his chest in stress at such a large tangle of thoughts, an incredulous laugh snuck out inside; for the tangle had unfurled immediately, leaving behind only that swelling of pride at knowing he’d done something truly amazing.

 

“Yuuri?”

 

He looked up at the voice, Victor’s eyes already wide as he took in the sudden changes to the courtyard, before giving Yuuri a hesitant smile.

 

“What are you up to now?”

 

Yuuri smiled back, confidence settled on him like a familiar mask, and patted the space beside him on the fountain’s edge.

 

“Join me?” he asked coyly.

 

Victor gave once more bemused glance around at all the roses and lanterns before doing as asked and settling next to him, giving him a curious sideways glance as he did so.

 

He took a deep breath and met Victor’s eyes, their blue so brilliant in the moonlight with the flickering dance of lanterns reflected upon them. 

 

“I… wanted to talk to you. In private.”

 

He laughed lightly. “I can see that.”

 

Yuuri reached out at that, gathering Victor’s hands in his own before scooting closer; their knees brushing together and his heart thudding against his chest with it.

 

“I’m not sure what the protocols for this are in Larussia or if it’s even feasible by current law, but I’ve been in the habit of ignoring laws I disagree with lately, so I wasn’t about to stop now.”

 

There was a slight tremble in Victor’s hand, and Yuuri suspected that at that moment, he knew what was coming next.

 

“You’ve always, since that very first day, asked me to call you just Victor. Not ‘your highness’ or ‘sire’ or anything else. And somewhere along the line, I began to see you as nothing but Victor with your rank and title but an afterthought. So, I guess what I’m trying to say is, ignoring your title completely,…”

 

He shifted Victor’s hands into his left, reaching up into his coat pocket over his heart with his right and pulling the two matching rings out; their only difference being the order of the ruby and sapphire. One half of sapphire on the left of one ring and on the right of the other, the same with the rubies.

 

“Victor Nikiforov, I would like to take care of you for the rest of your life.”

 

There was a flicker of remembrance in Victor’s eyes at that, his memories going back to that day when everything had changed; Yuuri had asked him, right after he’d stitched up the wound far too close to Yuuri’s heart, if he would always take such good care of him.

 

Victor had laughed at the time, kissed that rose seal ring upon Yuuri’s finger, and said, “it almost sounds like a marriage proposal.”

 

And something, deep down in Yuuri’s soul at that moment, had answered with a resounding chorus of “I want to marry him” that had never quite stopped.

 

Asking a king to marry him. What a recklessly daring and brave soul he was to do that!

 

Victor had gone still, only a telltale tremble in his hands that finally made its way up to his face; his lips curling ever so slightly into a hint of a smile.

 

“Only if you allow me to return the favor,” he said quietly.

 

“Of course,” Yuuri replied just as soft.

 

But the moment Yuuri opened his hand, the glint of the rings in the lantern light unmistakable, all Victor’s royal poise finally lost its battle; his arms around Yuuri’s neck and his voice thick with emotion in Yuuri’s ear.

 

“Oh my God, Yuuri. I... “ he took a shaky breath, a huff of a laugh caught up in it, before he tried once more. “Yes,  _ yes _ I’ll marry you, Yuuri!”

 

Yuuri wasn’t sure when his eyes had welled up, whether it was as he took Victor’s shaking hand into his own to slide the ring onto his finger, or if it was when he handed the matching ring to Victor and he took his hand to do the same; both of them somewhat speechless as they stared at their hands in disbelief. 

 

Then Victor was kissing him, the metal of the ring,  _ their ring _ , now against Yuuri’s cheek, and he reached up to do the same to Victor; knowing he too would feel such a wonderful happiness deep in his heart at feeling the same upon his cheek.

 

He’d already been so impossibly lucky this last year, Yuuri thought perhaps he’d hit his limit. But now he knew that couldn’t be true, because he had never been happier or luckier than he was that very moment; knowing in his soul that Victor wanted the same future as he did.

 

Together.

 

Hours could have gone by and Yuuri wouldn’t have noticed, the two of them lingering with one another, both still in a state of awe that caused them to giggle softly every time they remembered why there was a new weight on their finger.

 

Finally, Yuuri grabbed Victor’s hand and tugged him back towards the ballroom where all their friends awaited them.

 

He was too happy to be even remotely embarrassed when Phichit wasted not a single moment after they entered to announce them to the room at large, with one new addendum to their titles.

 

“Ladies and gentleman, please give a round of applause for my best friend and the illustrious leader of the Vermilion Rose, Yuuri Katsuki, and his new fiance, King Victor Nikiforov of Larussia!”

 

There was cheering and congratulations all around, but all Yuuri could focus on was Victor’s beautiful smile and how he seemed to literally  _ glow _ with happiness.

 

Yuuri gave a nod towards the orchestra and took Victor by the hand to the center of the ballroom.

 

“May I have this waltz, Victor?” he asked with an innocent flutter of his eyelashes.

 

Victor’s smile back was so warm, it could melt the snow. “Of course. I save all my waltzes for you.”

 

And feeling lighter than air, he took up Victor’s hand in his own as the music began; both of them dancing waltz after waltz until they could dance no more.

 

* * *

 

The guests had retired to their rooms or left for the evening, all of them tired after a night of celebration and dancing; for after the dances Victor had presented every member of the Vermilion Rose with a medal of honor as a hero of Larussia before presenting Yuuri with his gift.

 

It may have appeared simple to many there, but Victor knew by Yuuri’s touched reaction that he’d chosen wisely in remaking a handkerchief with roses embroidered by his hand around the edges. He had countless other gifts for Yuuri, but that was the one that he knew would mean the most.

 

Even now, in their bedroom, Yuuri had taken extra care to place the handkerchief on the vanity next to his glasses before returning to where Victor stood by the window.

 

“Victor?”

 

He turned with a soft smile. “Ah, sorry. I was just remembering.”

 

“Remembering?”

 

“When I would wait up for the chance a certain dashing phantom might steal his way into my bedroom.”

 

Yuuri chuckled, wrapping his arms around Victor’s waist.

 

“Much better now. Less time climbing, more time…”

 

And at this, he expertly turned Victor in his arms and pressed him back against the window pane; their warm breaths fogging it over.

 

“More time stealing my breath away instead?” Victor gasped out, clearly a bit breathless already.

 

Yuuri smiled at that, and there was that twinkle in his eyes full of mischief that was always there if you knew where to look. He leaned in slowly, pressing his lips hot and warm to Victor’s with a kiss full of that fire that burned deep inside.

 

Victor could feel the touch of the ring,  _ their ring _ , upon his finger as he took Victor’s face into his hands to deepen the kiss; and he left sparks tingling in his lips’ wake. When they parted, breathless with eyes full of stars, they both smiled brighter than the moon above.

 

“Why my darling Eros, I see you’ve never left,” he replied; breath and heart and soul all stolen away by the charming man before him.

 

Yuuri met his gaze with a flutter of eyelashes that made Victor’s breath catch in his throat and gently rested his forehead forward against Victor’s; those beautiful brown eyes not needing a mask of red silk around them to shine like constellations all their own.

 

“Of course. Eros belongs with Psyche, after all. Now and forever.”

 

And feeling press of the matching rings upon their hands as their fingers intertwined, the beats of their hearts dancing together as one, Victor knew that there was no truer statement than that.

 

_ “Forever.” _

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect more visuals, backstory, footnotes and who knows what else to be posted to [the EVR tumblr](http://elusive-vermilion-rose.tumblr.com) in the next couple of weeks. I've already posted up the final ball outfits, but there's loads more extras to come (like Leo's song, outfits for the visiting families, etc). I won't out rule the possibility of extra fic related to this universe either, as I'm certain I'm going to go into EVR-writing withdrawal and there's always so many more adventures that can be had! 
> 
> Thank you all for coming along on this adventure with me! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did (◍•ᴗ•◍)♡ ✧*。


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